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2
DIEGO
She finally gets her pants on. I’ve only been trying to convince her to wear them from the moment she took them off. Why does she insist on teasing me? OfcourseI look at her long legs and hold my breath for a glimpse at her panties. They’re pink with white stripes, and they look so, so soft. But nowhere near as soft as her skin, or the waves in her hair.
She’s a beautiful princess, and I’m the ogre keeping an eye on her. The sooner this is over with the better. Because smelling her cherry scent and looking at her big, innocent eyes and listening to her angelic voice is breaking my mind.
It’s torture. She knows it.
I sigh as she follows me from my room and into the main area of the lodge. I share a living area, kitchen, and weight room with the others, but I still prefer to keep to myself. My room is farthest from the common areas.
“So you killed that guy? Or did Charles kill that guy? And what’s going to happen to his body? Is it just going to stay out there? Gross,” she mutters. “I feel a little bad. I mean, he came all the way out here to kill me, right?”
“Yes.” I can’t imagine what’s going to come out of her mouth next.
“And he failed. He didn’t even get a look at me before you—or Charles—killed him. I mean, did he even get paid? Did his money go into a bank account for his assassin friends to split amongst themselves or—” She gasps.
I whirl, and her eyes wide, a hand to her mouth. “Did he have a family?”
“No.” I want to soothe her, to try and put her at ease. But I’m not capable of it. I’m a brute, hulking and scarred.
She’s just too sweet to realize I’m a monster.
“Men who do merc work—mercenary work,” I amend for her. “Or who join the Brotherhood, they aren’t allowed to have families. He was a lone wolf, he came for you, and now he’s dead.”
“Oh. But how do you know he came for me?”
“No one knows I’m here.”
“Surely,someoneknows you—”
“No one.” I turn away from her and keep stomping down the hallway.
She keeps to my heels, her voice and scent impossible to escape or ignore. But the problem is, I don’t want to escape her or ignore her. I want to be able to talk with her. I can’t. I don’t have the tools. I never have, even before being a merc and getting these scars.
“No one?” Her voice is softer, and I feel the gentle touch of her fingers along my arm.
I stop again.
She’s right behind me. Her warmth hits me in waves, every bit of her wrapped in softness and sweet like sugar.
“My parents are dead. Anyone who knew me before the Scorpions thinks I’m dead.” I turn back to her. “And I should be. These scars aren’t for show. I almost died the day I got them. Look, princess. I’m not some nice guy you just happened to meet in the snowy woods.” I don’t know what I’m saying or why I’m saying it. “I’m not nice. Not even a little. So don’t bother.” I spin again and lead her toward the rest of the lodge. That’s settled it. She’ll quit teasing me and—
“You know, I think the scars make you look sexy. They’re dangerous. Like you’re a secret spy who knows all sorts of dirt on politicians and—oh—maybe even celebrities. I bet you’ve been like a bodyguard to the stars or something, haven’t you?” She is utterly undeterred.
I should be frustrated with her. Instead, I listen to every word that falls from her lips. The way I’ve been doing from the moment she showed up at the lodge. I can’t seem to stop—stop staring, stop listening, stop imagining. But I have to. She’ll be gone in a day or two, back to her life in the spotlight.
Just the thought of a spotlight anywhere near me makes my insides curdle.
“Like maybe the Queen of England? Or, oooohh, Dolly? Dolly Parton is my favorite. If you’ve saved her life, I think I’m in love with you.”
I stop short.
She bumps into me. Wasting no time, she throws her arms around me. “You did, didn’t you?” she whispers. “You saved Dolly?” She’s so small she can’t clasp her hands around me. I’m too big for her.
I sigh as she snuggles her cheek against my back.
“You smell so good. Is that your soap? It must be. I want to shower when we get back to our room. Rub that tasty smell all over me.”
