Whatever.
I reluctantly released him. “Piece of shit. Get the fuck out of here.”
The man broke through the crowd and scurried away like a scared little mouse.
What kind of motherfucker stole from a gorgeous woman? He was lucky I hadn’t killed him, but I’d killed too many men in my life. There was no room for death on my vacation.
I handed her the luggage.
“Thank you for retrieving my suitcase. How can I ever repay you?”
By getting on all fours and letting me fuck you from behind.
I pushed the thought away. Over the years, I’d grown very good at reading people, and my gut told me she wasn’t the type of woman who would be interested in a casual hookup. Besides her designer luggage, she wore a loose silk blouse that looked like it was expensive and sported huge emerald earrings.
And a massive diamond engagement ring.
Dammit. I was looking for a one-night stand—not someone else’s relationship drama.
I had two rules when it came to women: never sleep with the same one twice, and never fuck some other man’s woman. Cheaters repulsed me, especially after seeing so many of my Teammates return home from deployment to find their wives had been unfaithful.
“No need. Are you hurt?”
She placed her hand on my arm.
“No, I’m fine. A bit rattled, but I’ll be okay.” She gave me a brave smile that faded after a few seconds. “Other than the fact that my documents, my money, and my phone are gone.”
That sucked. “Can I escort you somewhere? Your hotel?” I’d take her somewhere she would be safe. I didn’t owe her anything else. She was engaged—I refused to get involved.
Her shoulders dropped, and her voice sounded weak. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You aren’t a bother. I’m happy to help.”
“I appreciate that, but I’ll be fine. Thank you again for getting my luggage.” She grabbed her bag from me, walked a few feet away, slumped on a bench, and clutched her book. I watched curiously to see what she would do.
After a few moments, she began to cry.
Fuck. I couldn’t leave her alone after she had just been mugged. I wasn’t that much of a dick.
Fine, Ryan. Just get her situated and then go on your way.
I walked to the bench and sat beside her. “What are you going to do? I have a cell with international minutes. Would you like to call someone? Maybe your fiancé?”
She bit her plump lower lip and fidgeted with the diamond on her finger. “Oh, you noticed my ring. It’s not what it seems.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure it isn’t, lady. Tell that to him.”
“I mean, it is. I’m technically engaged, but we’re not together romantically. It’s more of . . . a business arrangement.”
I leaned in closer. What was her story? I didn’t know her at all, but something in her voice and her eyes made me curious about her. Normally, I didn’t give two shits about other people’s personal lives, but she intrigued me. I had to get to the bottom of this.
“An arrangement? That’s sexy.” What year was it? Who still had arranged marriages?
She sniffled and gave me a pointed look. “It’s not meant to be sexy. It’s meant to be practical.”
I wasn’t even going to go there with her. I was of the firm belief that the words marriage and practical should never be used in the same sentence.
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Château La Chenevière. But without my documents, I’ll be unable to check in. I could call my father, but I’m too embarrassed. He warned me about traveling alone. He’ll just tell me, ‘I told you so,’ and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Daddy’s girl. An engaged daddy’s girl. Even so, she spoke with an innocence I found refreshing. “I get it. You want to be independent.”
She looked up at me. “It’s not just that. Now I realize he was right. It was foolish of me to travel alone. This is none of your concern—I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
But she didn’t look fine. She forced a smile like she was trying to keep everything together and not break down.
I studied this woman next to me who didn’t seem to blend in with either the casual locals or the sloppy tourists. Even though I was on vacation, I was a Navy SEAL twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to her. She’d already been mugged, and though I’d recovered her luggage, she didn’t have her purse. So far, she’d been sweet, shy, and was surprisingly open to answering all my questions. Nothing like the other women I’d hooked up with. Definitely a challenge.
And I never backed down from a challenge.
“Let me take you to dinner first, and after we’re done, I’ll walk you to your hotel and make sure you’re settled.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want to ruin your night with my troubles. Furthermore, I don’t even know you.”
I needed to assure her that I wasn’t some psychopath. I scooted away from her. “Then get to know me. My name is Ryan Shelton, I’m a Navy SEAL.” I reached into my back pocket and flashed a military ID at her.
Her eyes widened. “A Navy SEAL? I read once that Navy SEALs were trained to kill in over three hundred ways. So, you’re a killer? That’s supposed to make me feel more comfortable with you?”
Not the reaction I was going for and definitely not the one I was used to. Back in the States, many women dropped to their knees with mouths opened in anticipation when I told them I was a SEAL.
I put the ID back in my pocket. “I protect people, just like I protected you earlier. I’m one of the good guys. What’s your name?”
“Giselle. Nice to meet you, Ryan.”
“Would you like to join me for dinner or not?”
She played with a lock of her hair and stared at me. After an uncomfortable pause, she finally said, “I’d love to.”
“Great. Let’s go.” I took her luggage and walked down the street with her right beside me, her heels clicking on the cobblestones. I took a moment to stare at her luscious ass, which sent a jolt to my cock.
As we walked further, I kept stealing glances at her, trying to assess her. Giselle had perfect posture, luxury clothing, expensive jewelry, and an elegant way of speaking. I still couldn’t place her accent—I wanted to say it was French or Italian. Still, judging by her grammar, it was obvious that she had been educated in English-speaking schools.
Maybe she was the daughter of a diplomat. Or of a global entrepreneur. Or of some head of a cartel or Mafia-type organization. Or from a deeply religious family. Who else would force her into an arranged marriage?
I’ll find out tonight.
After walking only a few minutes, a man darted in front of us, his camera flashing in our faces.
“Gisela! Votre Majesté!” He was speaking so rapidly that I couldn’t follow what he was saying.
What the fuck? I knocked the camera out of his hand, but it was attached to a strap around his neck. The man yelled more words I didn’t understand and continued taking pictures of us.
Giselle shielded her face and ran up the street. The man chased after her.
Where was she going? Who was this girl?
I bolted after her, racing past the loser with the camera, tripping him on the way.
Once I reached her side, I grabbed her arm then turned her to face me. “Why is a paparazzo taking pictures of you? Who are you? Don’t lie to me.”
Her eyes blinked like she was deciding whether or not to tell me the truth. Finally, she spoke.
“I didn’t lie to you. My name is Giselle . . . Garabaldi.”
She looked at me expectantly, as if the name should mean something.
“I’m afraid I’m not current with Swedish pop music.” I took a stab in the dark.
She gave a bitter, mirthless laugh. “No. I’m not a singer.�
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“I’m lost, babe. Are you famous or something?”
“Yes, you could say that. I’m the Crown Princess of Santa Cariña.”
Giselle
“YOU’RE A FUCKING PRINCESS? Are you kidding me?”
“Yes, indeed, I am. Could you please lower your voice? And I would appreciate it if you would refrain from swearing at me. I find it very jarring.”
His eyes widened. “I’ll talk however I want. This is my vacation, and I’m not one of your subjects.” He scratched a hand along his full dark beard, highlighted by the silvery moon. “You’re royalty, and you’re traveling without protection? Not a good idea, Princess.”
He obviously had a point. My father had warned me against going alone, insisting I travel with security, but for once in my sheltered life, I’d stood up to him. I told him that if I was old enough to get married, I was old enough to travel alone. But he’d been right. Clearly, I had been unable to take care of myself. Just the thought of calling the palace to tell my father I’d been mugged was worse than being cursed at by this foulmouthed stranger.
Make that an incredibly sexy foulmouthed stranger. Ryan was the complete opposite of my blue-blooded fiancé.
He typed something on his phone. I leaned over; he was staring at my official photo. Ugh, I hated that photo. It was so airbrushed that I looked like I was made out of plastic.
His eyes flicked between his phone and my face.
“Yup, that’s you. Wow, I thought you were lying.”
“I never lie.” To other people, that was. I only lied to myself.
I could see his eyes reading over my Wikipedia page. I cringed—my public relations team made me sound like a perfect, prim prude of a princess. Mentioning that I was the spokesperson of True Love Waits, which promotes abstinence until marriage, didn’t exactly scream sexy. I closed my eyes and prayed that he hadn’t read that, and if he did, he wouldn’t know what it meant. I might as well have had the word virgin tattooed on my forehead.
I stammered, at a loss to explain myself.
What should I say?
As if he could sense my uneasiness, he put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m impressed.” He then bowed dramatically in front of me. “Let’s go, Your Royal Highness. Your royal escort awaits.”
Great, now he would treat me differently. For once, I’d wanted to be seen as just a normal girl. I hadn’t planned to tell him I was a princess until after dinner, hoping he would get to know me first. But that photographer had forced my confession.
We arrived at a bistro with a red awning and neon lights. A chalkboard outside listed the specials, and the scent of rosemary, thyme, and bay leaves made me salivate.
“Is this place nice enough for you, Princess?”
I was used to restaurants with three Michelin stars, but I never enjoyed them. The food was excellent without a doubt, but I always found the atmosphere pretentious.
“It’s lovely.”
Ryan spoke to the maître d’. “Table for two.”
The man attempted to store our luggage, but Ryan stopped him and asked if we could keep the bags near us. I almost laughed and accused Ryan of being paranoid—I seriously doubted the maître d’ would steal anything, but clearly, Ryan was overly cautious. The maître d’ agreed reluctantly and then seated us at a table in the back of the restaurant. The lights were dim, and I was grateful that the bistro had very few customers.
I felt a flutter in my stomach. What if someone recognized me? But the other patrons didn’t even seem to glance at us, so I studied the menu and tried to relax.
Now that I could see Ryan better, I was taken aback by how handsome he was. His brown hair was longer than I figured men in the military would have, and his soulfully deep brown eyes were accented by long black eyelashes.
Ryan ordered a bottle of Bordeaux. I quickly glanced at the wine list—he had chosen the most expensive bottle in the restaurant.
Was he trying to impress me? My skin heated up—was it hot in here, or was I just a nervous wreck? This was starting to feel like I was on a blind date.
Was this a date?
“You really don’t have to do this. I can pay you back tomorrow.”
He shot me an intense glare. “I got this. I don’t need your money. I’ve never been out to dinner with a princess. Let’s just have a good time tonight.”
He relaxed those broad shoulders back into the chair, his gaze lighter than before. “So, tell me, why are you traveling alone? Must need a break from all your tough work of attending balls and kissing frogs.”
What a jerk. I bit my lip. “I’m taking a solo trip before I have to get married. And for your information, I do full-time charity work. I help ill children, refugees, and the elderly. It’s immensely gratifying. I’m truly blessed.”
He cocked his head. “You’re a regular Princess Di. That’s cool. Where’s your fiancé? How would he feel if he knew you were on a romantic date with a dangerous man like me?”
Romantic date? Dangerous man? Excitement swirled with fear low in my belly. What were his intentions toward me? How was tonight going to end?
I hadn’t missed how he’d paused over the word “dangerous.” But I didn’t fear being with him because he’d beaten up my mugger. Maybe my blind trust was foolish, but I hated to admit that I was more scared of being alone tonight than of being with this handsome stranger.
“He would be displeased. Not because he cares about me, but because it would make him look bad. Honestly, I don’t know him very well. We’ve only met a few times. We’ve never even kissed.” I quickly covered my mouth and winced. Why had I just admitted that?
Ryan shook his head as if in disbelief. “Wow. Some love story.”
Explaining my engagement out loud made me realize just how truly ridiculous my predicament was. Why couldn’t I just stand up to my father and say no?
“It’s embarrassing. I don’t even know where he is at the moment, though I’ve heard he is out—how do you Americans say it—sowing his royal oats . . . before the wedding.” And that was true. The tabloids had picture after picture of my betrothed partying with every socialite in town.
Meanwhile, I was portrayed as a pathetic, lovelorn princess. At first, I’d hoped we would someday grow to love each other as my parents had before my mom’s tragic death. But my royal wedding would be nothing like their love story—mine would be more like a funeral. A funeral for my psyche.
Ryan’s eyes traveled over me from head to toe. “What a douche. Why would he want to be with anyone else when he has you? If you were my woman, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
Warmth spread through me like wildfire. His compliments came off as sincere, like they weren’t just rehearsed lines. What would it be like to be this self-proclaimed dangerous man’s woman?
Sadly, I would never find out.
I attempted to change the subject.
“What about you? Tell me about your family.”
He gazed over my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“There is always something to tell. What state are you from? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What do your parents do?”
I detected a hint of sadness in his eyes but was probably overanalyzing the situation.
Before he answered me, the waiter came to take our order. Ryan chose the beef daube, and I requested the salmon with lentils.
I looked at him expectantly, but he ignored my earlier questions about his family and took a sip of wine. “Why are you marrying him? This isn’t the fourteen hundreds. Prince Arthur married his college sweetheart Elizabeth by choice.”
Why did everyone always bring up Art? As young royals, Arthur and I had practically grown up together, though these days, I spent more time with his younger brother, Prince Douglas. “Arthur is the future King of England. He can do what he wants. I’m the princess of a very tiny principality. Our income is mostly from tourism. We don’t even have our own military. We rely on other countries for support, defense, and trade.”
He let out a loud laugh.
I scowled at him. “Something funny, Ryan?”
“No wonder you travel without security. That’s sad that you don’t even have your own military, but not shocking.”
Breathe, Giselle, breathe. Calm, cool, collected.
“Is that so? As I said, we are very small. What would you suggest, Mr. Navy SEAL?”
He licked his lips. “Hire me. I could fix the military problem.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “You could, could you? You could fund thousands of people to form an army, go to war with France to emancipate us, and provide aid to a town that is virtually landlocked by the entirety of Europe?” Who did he think he was? God? “The truth is, we love our neighboring countries. But that doesn’t mean we can stop being strategic.”
“And the strategy is to marry some random guy?”
“Hardly random. Our parents arranged us as children. My fiancé’s name is Miguel. He’s from Quintana, a small country near Spain. He’s been pleasant enough the handful of times we have interacted, but I don’t know him well.”
Ryan’s eyes widened. “You’re actually going to marry some guy you barely know? I love my country—hell, I’d die for her—but I wouldn’t commit myself to a loveless marriage. What if he’s horrible in bed?”
Of course he went there. I scowled at him. “Is that all you men think about? Sex? There’s more to a marriage than intercourse.”
He grinned and then gave me a wink. A wink that slayed me. Mischievous, sexual, dangerous. He reached his hand across the table and took mine. “Trust me, baby. Sex is the most important aspect of a marriage. It’s the glue that binds you together and makes your relationship different from your relationship with everyone else in the world. My buddies love their wives so much, they would do anything to get back to them. Their sexual connection is the reason they last through long separations. Without that chemical attraction, that lust, that hunger, you have nothing.”
His words hit me like a bolt to my chest. What if he was right? What if I was repulsed when Miguel touched me? Or what if Miguel didn’t enjoy sleeping with me? What then? Would I just wait at home while he found pleasure with other women, knowing full well we would never be granted a divorce?
Heroes Ever After Boxset: Books 1-3 Page 33
