Page 25 of The Forbidden Bodyguard

Sure, I’d love to fuck her brains out and watch her fall apart with my cock deep inside her. Other than that, I’ve known her for less than a day so I shouldn’t even have an opinion.

Yet here we are.

Overhearing her father speak to her on the phone the way he did this morning did not sit well with me. Victor Voss is a powerful man. Stella will be used to his tone, but that doesn’t make it right. She hid her fear quickly when I saw it flicker across her face.

Interesting that she’s choosing to marry a man so similar to her father. I guess that’s what women do.

But the question is, does she have daddy issues, or is something more sinister going on?

I mean, you don’t hire a bodyguard and ask him not to let the man you’re marrying touch you because you are nervous and excited about your wedding.

I didn’t buy a single one of her lies.

Roaming the living room, I’ve learned more about her. Stella has a bookcase filled with everything from fiction to mystery and even a couple of personal development workbooks.

There are photos of her with friends skiing somewhere. I’m going to assume Switzerland. Another of her parents posing by a pool. Scented candles, expensive lamps, rugs and throws fill the space along with a lot of cushions.

Far too many cushions.

Why do women do that? They take up sitting space. It’s illogical.

When I discovered the book she wrote, I flicked through it but stopped. It felt like I was intruding without permission. From what I read, it was well written, but more of a chick flick.

I hope she doesn’t ask me about it.

I read motor mags.

And emails.

That’s it.

What my nosing around has told me is that Stella is smart. I already figured that by her hiring her own security prior to meeting her fiancé.

Agreeing to marry the guy? Not so much.

I stride out onto the balcony and lean my hands on the railing, staring out over Manhattan. My workplace sure looks different than it did a month ago. There are no naval officers or SEALs wandering around, no one to salute, no uniforms or ships...just one high-rise building after the other, and the sounds of traffic, sirens and horns honking.

I’ve always loved New York City, so I was happy to accept the job Josh offered me. I won’t live and work here forever. I see the city as a steppingstone to a home I’ll one day create and settle down in.

One day.

I imagine myself with a good woman and starting a family. For now, this works.

I need this to work.

For me and mom.

She thinks I’ll return to the Navy, I know it. It’s as if her entire identity is attached to my father and his life and hero status, and me being a SEAL.

I get it in some ways, as so was mine for a long time. Especially in the early days. Earning my Trident was a fucking incredible day.

Then the real work begins, which no one except those in the special forces can understand. We have stopped wars, saved the lives of important men and women, and eliminated those who would harm millions.

Stuff that never hits the news and never will.

I’m proud as hell and will always be a SEAL. But that’s not all of who I am. I’m a son, a friend, a lover, and one day will be a father and husband.

I love baseball, pizza, the ocean, stormy weather, holding hands in the rain with a beautiful woman while I kiss her and promise dirty things when we get home.