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Must be a new low to be aroused by the woman I’m forcing into marriage. Then again, maybe Antonio hired me for a reason. I often wondered if he saw that dark side of me or if he helped create it. Either way, it doesn’t matter.
I’m the last son of a bitch this chick should fuck, too.
She plops back in her seat next to mine.
I remove my handcuff and set it aside. She won’t be running away, at least not for now. Though I have to remember, she’s smart. She won’t go down without a fight. Just because she stopped screaming and came with me doesn’t mean she’ll gladly accept this sham marriage.
“What will happen to my things?”
“Claudio, the bodyguard who kept an eye on you in New York, will gather everything and ship them.”
She eyes the large tote bag she grabbed before she left. In it, she stuffed her laptop, a couple of outfits, toiletries, and that damn blue bear.
A twinge of guilt stabs at me. Sienna isn’t meant for the world where she grew up.
She’s kindhearted, sweet like her late mother, and awfully naïve. She doesn’t know my mom and her father were lovers, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not after she offered her condolences when I told her that her father killed mine, as if she wished she could rewrite history. Like she had that power.
Poor thing doesn’t even have the power to change her own future.
A nagging sensation settles in my gut.
I am a soulless bastard.
“Is my father in town?”
“Yes. He arranged for you to stay at the guest house.”
She rolls her eyes. “Out of his way. That makes complete sense. Why break tradition?”
“He figures you’ll meet with a wedding planner and such, and having your own space will make sure no strangers go in and out of the main house,” I say. Also, the guest house is behind the opulent home, with a nice Olympic-sized pool in between. It’s luxurious but more compact than the main property, which means she’ll be safer too. Easier to watch.
Watching her so closely, though, will be a first for me.
Her father has several bodyguards and cronies on his payroll. I manage them and sweep big events or operations. Babysitting a woman, a hot one like her, is uncharted waters.
“How convenient,” she says, and the snark returns to her voice, which gives me an unexpectedly delightful measure of relief.
“It’ll make my job easier. I’ll be crashing on the couch.”
She squints her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Wish I wasn’t.” Boy, do I. I’m a big guy, and the couch won’t be a pleasant experience. Especially with the boss’s daughter sleeping in a warm bed not far from me. A part of me hopes she wears grandma-style housecoats to sleep in or long-sleeved fleece pajamas. Anything else will be another headache. Especially in the morning. Especially when I’m hard and?—
“You’ll sleep on a couch for a month? With several comfy rooms available in the main house?”
“Yes.” Not my call, but her father insists I watch her, and it’ll be impossible to do so effectively from a bedroom in another home. Sure, the property has security, but this whole circus is to keep her from even entertaining the idea of running away.
The more I think about it, the bigger the lump forms in my throat. To numb this inconvenient and hopefully temporary guilt in my conscience, I reach for my tumbler and take a good sip of scotch.
“Your mom must love you.”
I cock my chin. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, look at how committed you are,” she says. “She must be really proud of the fine man you’ve become, twisting a young woman’s arm, kidnapping her, and forcing her to marry a criminal.”
Sourness spills into my stomach.
Fuck. She hits below the belt. “My mom… has suffered enough. She doesn’t need to know every sordid detail of my occupation.” But I’m sure she imagines enough. The poor woman suffered when her husband cheated on her, then died, and her son turned into… well, into me.
