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I have to keep my head and my heart in line—not to mention my body.
Every part of me wants him in every possible way.
I may be fearless, but how I feel about him scares me most of all.
(FEARLESS is a stand-alone, enemies-to-lovers romantic suspense novel. It contains an insanely hot alpha protector and the curvy, feisty socialite he’s hired to protect. The forced proximity angle sets it all ablaze. No cheating. No cliffhangers.)
PROLOGUE
Blake
“Go back to the party.”The man’s voice is quietly menacing, black eyes glittering in the reflection of the green lawyer’s lamp. “Don’t make me remind you what happens when you get in my way.”
The tiny, silver scar tingles above my left eyebrow, and my heart beats like a rabbit trying to escape my ribcage. I’m way out of my league with Victor Petrova, but I never back down from a bully.
I’m more accustomed to standing up to bored, mean-girl bullies. You know the ones, with too much money and no imagination. This guy is on another level. He’s the embezzling accountant who’s sleeping with my mother, hurting my sister, and rumored to be connected to the mob type of bully.
But I’m the only one who will face him.
The last time I stood up to him, I ended up in the emergency department, and I confess, my confidence took a hit.
Squaring my shoulders, I defy him. “It’s not a party, it’s a wake, and my father’s estate is most definitely my business, especially with my mother being… how she is.”
Victor’s thin lips curl, exposing large teeth behind a groomed mustache. “How is your mother, Blake?”
Exactly how you want her–blind to your bullshit.I don’t say it out loud.
“She hasn’t been well since my father died. I’m the oldest, so if she’s incapable of doing business–”
“She hired me to handle your father’s business. You’re only sixteen. Now stop being a little shit and run along. Don’t worry, I won’t touch your weekly allowance.”
“The way you don’t touch my sister?”
His eyes flash, and my pulse jumps. But he immediately controls his expression, leaning back with a slimy grin. “Jealous?”
Bile floods my throat. “Hana’s only thirteen. If I find out what she said is true… it’ll be worse for you if I can prove it.”
He shoves the brown folder forward and stands abruptly, rounding my father’s desk too fast. “Hana is an addict, and everyone knows it. Hurling accusations will only land you on the wrong side of what’s happening here.”
“My sister likes to party, but she’s not a liar. Too bad for you, pedophilia went out with the seventies.”
His meaty fist clenches, and a shudder races down my body. “You’ll shut your stupid mouth, or I’ll shut it for you.”
Setting my jaw, I hold my eyes open, my posture straight, my tone steady. “I hope youarestupid enough to hit me again. It’ll be the last bit of evidence I need to get you out of our lives for good.”
He stops just short of where I stand, unclenching his fist long enough to grasp my upper arm and jerk me hard enough to leave a bruise. “If you know what’s good for your mother, for your sister, and for you, you won’t ever threaten me again.”
My feet skitter across the Persian rug as he drags me to the door and tosses me out of the room. A hall table breaks my fall with a loud crash, another bruise, and the heavy wooden door slams shut. The metallic sound of a key turning in the lock seals the deal.
“Shit,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
After my father was found dead in his chair at the club two weeks ago, my mother gave that rat Victor Petrova the keys to the kingdom. The doctors said it was a heart attack, even though Charles van Hamilton had no history of cardiovascular disease.
Poor Mamá delayed her annual ski trip to St. Moritz by a week to play the role of the grieving widow, and she’s been in her room popping pills and fake-crying her way through bottles of champagne with her idiot friends ever since.
No comfort for her two daughters, not that she ever has been. Not that dear ole Dad ever was either. He liked to say it took more than forty hours a week to support our privileged lifestyle, but it was bullshit.
The van Hamiltons have more money than God, and Hana and I both have trust funds that will keep us wealthy well into retirement when we each turn twenty-one, should we choose to work. Dad only cared for us to look good in public and not embarrass him.
