The Reluctant Wife: Chapter 10

I startle. Both Ryot and I straighten. He looks away and, without losing a beat, he slaps the intercom button on his side. ‘Yes, let’s head to the hotel.’

He makes sure to glance out the window on his side and proceeds to demolish the ice cream in two big bites. I hope he gets an ice cream headache. Not that he’d ever let on. His expression is carefully blank. It’s as if that heated moment between us never happened. Damn. Is it that easy for him to pretend there’s nothing between us?

My stomach feels heavy. I glance down at the ice cream cone in my hand and find I’ve lost all appetite for it. I dump it back in the tray and resist the urge to fling it in his lap. He’d deserve it though…that…that…knobhead, grr. If only people knew the number of choice British insults I know, thanks to attending school in London. They’d realize, I’m not the sweet, innocent princess the media often makes me out to be. I plonk the holder with the now-melted ice cream on the seat between us.

‘Is it that easy for you to switch off whatever you felt a few minutes ago and pretend nothing happened between us?’ I fume.

‘It is, because nothing happened.’ He speaks slowly, like I won’t understand what he’s saying.

‘I call bullshit. You and I both know that we both felt…that pull. That attraction. That…same chemistry we both felt at the bar, and it’s not something that’s going to go away.’

His forehead furrows. Then he turns to me. ‘I can’t deny that you are a beautiful woman, and I find you attractive.’

‘But—?’ I fold my arms across my chest and wait.

‘But I will not cross the line between bodyguard and client. If I did, I’d be no good as your protector.’

‘What do you mean?’ I purse my lips.

‘Once I’m personally involved, I won’t be able to keep my edge. I won’t be able to make the right decisions when it comes to your safety.’

‘That sounds…far-fetched.’

His eyes grow hard. ‘It’s not. I need to keep my perspective so I can make the right decision under pressure. When it comes to you, I can’t afford not to, do you understand?”

I scan his features, take in the vehemence in his expression. “Are you this committed to the safety of all your clients?” Or is it just me? Say you’re this protective because it’s me, please?

Instantly, a mask seems to drop over his face. His jaw turns to granite. “I always do my very best to safeguard my assets.”

Disappointment squeezes my chest. “So that’s all I am? An asset?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” He pulls out his phone and begins to swipe across the screen, signaling the discussion is at an end.

I scowl. He’s right, of course, but something tells me he’s lying. He felt that insane chemistry which turned our kiss into a shooting star of flames. It rocked my world and made me realize what I’d be missing out on in an arranged marriage. This is the only time I will ever get to feel this way. Is it too much to hope for it to be reciprocated?

‘I don’t believe you,’ I say hotly.

I’m frustrated that we didn’t get a chance to finish what we started, as the constant state of my arousal will testify to. And if I’m being honest, it wouldn’t hurt to know that if there were a chance to have more with me, he’d take it.

He pockets his phone and raises his gaze back to mine. Those green irises of his blaze with something glacial that freezes me in my tracks.

“Don’t mistake what happened at the bar for something more than what it was.” His tone is hard enough to cut glass.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

He clenches his jaw. ‘A potential one-time shag. In retrospect, it’s best it didn’t happen. You’d have wanted more, and that’s something I cannot give you.’

I flinch. It’s as if he physically slapped me. ‘Did you just imply that I’m good for a one-night stand, and nothing more?’

He raises a shoulder. ‘Take it however you want.’

‘I… I…’ I try to form a complete sentence, but my brain seems to have short-circuited. He’s joking; he has to be. I felt him respond that night when I kissed him. Felt him kiss me back. Felt him deepen the kiss and drink from me like he couldn’t get enough of my taste. And when I kissed him earlier in the car, I felt his heart thunder against mine. He’s lying; I know it. But to hear him speak of it, you’d think it meant nothing.

‘Yes, I had a physical response to you, but that’s only to be expected. You’re a beautiful woman, after all. But it didn’t mean anything.’

‘Sure, it did. You can’t say the response you had to me was something that has happened before.”

“Are you searching for confirmation of your own attractiveness?” he drawls in that reasonable voice that makes me want to punch his beautiful face.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Don’t pretend not to understand what I’m saying. It’s not like everyone feels this way when they’re attracted to someone else. This is different, isn’t it? So why can’t you at least say so aloud?”

‘I’m doing it to protect you,’ he growls.

‘Protect me? How?’ I shake my head. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

‘It’s not only the fact that you’re a princess⁠—’

‘And you’re a Davenport. Your family is as wealthy as mine, if not wealthier.’

He shoots me a curious glance.

‘I might be insulated from a lot of the daily issues that people face, but even I have heard of the Davenport Group. My father holds your grandfather in great esteem. Enough to hire you as my bodyguard and trust you with my life, not something he’d do lightly. You may not be of royal blood, but in every other way, your family is as powerful as mine.’

His brow furrows. ‘Your point being?’

‘We belong to the same social class.’

‘You mean, we come from generational wealth?’ There’s a disparagement in his tone that raises my hackles.

‘Are you one of those people who prefers to disown your moneyed background?’ I take in his features, trying to understand him. He’s so much more complex than other men I’ve encountered.

Thanks to attending boarding school in England, I’ve managed to have a more or less normal life. Well, as normal as can be when you go to one of the most sought-after private schools in the country, and when your fellow students come from the cream of British society. I didn’t hit it off with them. Didn’t form any lasting friendships with my titled peers who moved in the kind of rarified circles I was keen to avoid. And none of them had half as much depth as this man.

‘Is that why you decided to serve your country?’

A muscle at his jaw tics. ‘I joined the Marines because I wanted to make something of myself. I needed to forge my own path.’

‘And now, you’re a bodyguard.’

‘I’m a protector. It’s what I do.’ He says it in a matter-of-fact voice, and I believe him. He’s hardwired to be a guardian.

‘You’re different from anyone else I’ve encountered. You’ve seen the horrors of wars, and that can’t be easy,’ I say slowly.

My previous bodyguards didn’t have military experience, and I can see the difference in how Ryot holds himself. How he’s always hyper alert. How he constantly scans his surroundings and takes in people in my vicinity, how the tension radiates off of him like every muscle of his is tuned into the environment to sense the tiniest threat. He reminds me of an apex predator in the forest who is always vigilant.

He doesn’t respond—big surprise! —but his features close further. Guess he doesn’t like to talk about it. Which is…understandable. It makes him an enigma, which makes him even more appealing, which also pisses me off. It’s not fair that, even when he’s being rude to me, I find him so irresistible. It’s that which makes me shoot off my mouth. ‘Is it because I’m born into a family with royal bloodlines? Is that why you hate me?’

He blinks, and his features soften. ‘I don’t…hate you.’

‘But you don’t want to sleep with me, either?’

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but as I have explained to you, I can’t. You’re my principal, and I cannot cross that line. Besides—” He looks away, then back at me. “Your father trusts me to protect your life, and I can’t let him down.’

Something in his tone and his demeanor tells me he’s hiding something. There’s something else stopping him from acting on the attraction between us. Something more than professional etiquette. If I tell him more about myself, might he be open to sharing?

“Being a princess is not all it’s cut out to be,” I offer.

“Oh?” He looks at me with curiosity.

“Most of the men I meet are more interested in the fact that I come from a royal background. None of them are interested in me. It’s not that I’m complaining about being born into the kind of status that most women would wish for, but”—I take in the attentiveness on his features—“but I’d give anything to be a normal girl and go on a date with a man I like, who’s interested in me for myself, you know?”

He pauses. Then the set of his features relaxes. “I understand more than you realize,” he admits.

“Given your family’s background, I suppose you do.” I nod. “And given your looks⁠—”

“My looks?” he asks in an amused tone.

“You know what I’m talking about.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “As I was saying, given your above average handsomeness and the fact that you come from a family of billionaires, I bet you have women falling over themselves to date you.”

He straightens his spine. When he looks at me, his expression is remote. “I haven’t been on a date in years,” he finally says.

My jaw drops. “I don’t believe it. Why, at the bar, we’d barely met when you asked me to go home with you.”

Something flickers across his features. A look I can’t quite interpret. Then he clears his throat. “That was…out of character.”

It’s clear, he’s telling the truth. And my heart blooms in my chest. The fact that he asked me home when he wouldn’t have normally done so makes me so very happy.

There’s something in his eyes, a glimpse of desolation, a look of… Anguish? Of something that hints at secrets. It sets off a lightbulb in my brain.

‘You’re not… Married, are you?’ The words are out before I can stop myself. I slap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, honestly.”

I glance down at his fingers and don’t find a ring. Or even a telltale band of lighter-colored flesh around his ring finger. So… Probably not married, right?

The muscle above his jaw twitches. A tightening around his eyes tells me I’m not far from the truth. But I also feel like I’m encroaching in his personal life when, clearly, he doesn’t want to talk about it. I lower my hand and lock my fingers together.

“You know what? Never mind. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Truly. Forget I said anything. And please accept my apologies for the intrusion.”

He continues to stare at me, his features a mask of granite. The seconds stretch, then he seems to come to a decision. “I was married,” he says in a remote voice.

I flinch. ‘You were married?’

He nods.

‘And you’re divorced?’

He slowly shakes his head.

‘Then… Are you separated?’

His shoulders seem to swell. A nerve throbs at his temple. Then he looks out the window and mutters, ‘She’s dead.’