Chapter 3
Chapter Three
W hat the fuck was he doing?
Grinding his teeth together, he headed downstairs. He shoved his hands on his hips, then closed his eyes, and instantly he saw her, naked except for dark-blue panties, all slender limbs and golden skin.
Fuck .
And who would have guessed that Princess Sofia of Caldova had a belly button piercing? A sexy little gem that had begged him to touch it.
He growled. When she’d made that stumbling apology, cheeks pink, and eyes miserable, he hadn’t been able to sit there and stay silent.
He should have. He should have kept his mouth shut and his hands off her.
He had no business imagining her naked, writhing under his hands. His jaw tightened. He had no business fantasizing about a princess destined to marry some wealthy, aristocratic prince, or duke.
No business wondering how she’d taste. What sounds she’d make with his mouth on her skin. How tight she’d be when he sank his cock inside her.
Fuck , he wanted her.
Then Rome looked down and spotted the bloodstain on his shirt. Sofia’s blood . She’d been under his charge for only minutes before she’d been hurt.
He knew better than anyone that taking your eyes off the situation for even just a second meant people could die.
He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Sofia.
Rome made his way to the guest room where he’d stashed his duffel bag earlier. He washed the blood off his hands and changed into a fresh shirt.
As he headed to the open-plan kitchen, his cell phone vibrated and he yanked it out. “Nash.”
“Rome.” Vander’s deep voice. “Heard there was a problem at the airport.”
“One attacker. Had a knife.”
Vander cursed.
“Princess got nicked, but it isn’t bad.”
“Need a doctor?”
“She didn’t want one. I cleaned it up. Police took the guy. I was about to call Hunt for an update.”
Hunt was Detective Hunter Morgan. He was former Army, but when an injury had ended his military career, he’d joined the San Francisco PD. He was Norcross Security’s main police contact, although Hunt spent a lot of time cursing them for making messes and giving him a headache.
“You need more support?” Vander asked.
“No. We’re safe at her rental house now, and the exterior guards are in place, along with the increased security system.” Rome huffed out a breath. “But shit, I should never have let her get that close to the crowd.”
“Let me guess, she talked you into it?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s fine, Rome, that’s the main thing.” Vander paused. “You read the brief from Prince Nicholas’ head of security?”
Rome’s gut tightened. “She has a stalker.”
“So far, it’s just threatening notes, but the guy knows her schedule. Let’s hope he hasn’t followed her Stateside.”
Rome narrowed his gaze. Let the asshole come, and Rome would be happy to teach him a lesson.
“Stay sharp, Rome. Keep me updated.”
“Yeah. Later, Vander.”
A quick call to Hunt confirmed the man with a knife was just a local crazy with a deep hatred of anything royal. He claimed he was the long-lost love child of some British royal. He’d been arrested twice for causing problems when various royals had visited.
Rome needed to keep his head in the game…and not on a certain princess’ sexy body and beautiful face.
He made a quick trip outside to organize for her suitcases to be brought in. Someone had retrieved her handbag as well. He also checked in with the team of exterior guards. He’d hand-picked them all himself, and set up their rotating schedule.
Back inside, he heard footsteps, and turned.
With a smile, Sofia walked into the bright, airy kitchen and living area. “Oh, this is even nicer than the photos.” Her smile widened. “I’d love a house like this one.”
She was still wrapped in the robe, but she’d tied her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head. No one looking at her right now would think she was a princess.
“What’s your place like back in Caldova?” he asked.
“I live in the palace. I have my own apartment in one wing.” A look crossed her face. “But I dream of a house like this, all of my own. Not big and palatial, not too small. Just right.”
Rome eyed her. Funny that most people with normal houses would probably kill to live in a palace.
“My bag!” She took it from him. “Thank you.” She set it on the coffee table.
“Your luggage is in the master bedroom upstairs. And I wanted to go over your schedule so I can ensure all your event security is arranged.”
“A few things have been added to the itinerary since it was sent to you.”
Rome grunted. He hated surprises.
She sat on the couch and wiggled into the soft cushions. She curled her legs under her and pulled out a sleek, silver laptop. He’d noticed that about her—outside, she was all polished and elegant, but behind closed doors she relaxed and enjoyed being comfortable.
“Here.” She turned the screen to face him.
He sat beside her and her scent hit him—a subtle, floral fragrance that teased the senses. Ignoring it—or trying to—he focused on the screen.
He grunted. “You have a lot of interviews.”
“To increase awareness of the Royal Jewelry Exhibition and Gala, which in turn, raises money for my charity.”
“Charity?”
She nodded. “The Victoria Foundation. It supports domestic-violence victims. Mainly women, and often children, escaping terrible situations.”
He eyed her for a second before he turned back to the screen. He kept reading, his scowl deepening. “Photo shoot?”
She nodded. “With the jewels. It’s part of the promotion.”
He released a breath. “Okay. Email me a copy, and I’ll start working on the security logistics.”
Nodding, she tapped the screen. “Done. I have some jewelry pieces with me, but the main pieces are arriving tomorrow with an escort.”
He nodded. “That’s all been arranged. We had a safe installed here. It’s a new prototype from Rivera Tech that hasn’t hit the market yet. A Riv3000.”
“My father swears by Rivera safes.”
“Any other surprises?” Rome asked.
She arched a blonde brow. “Did you expect me to just sit around, having baths and going to the spa?”
He crossed his arms, watching her with a narrow stare. “How about we talk about your stalker?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Not a pleasant subject to discuss on an empty stomach. I’m hungry.” She rose and strode into the kitchen. “Let’s eat, then you can pepper me with questions about crazy stalkers.”
* * *
Sofie loved the dark-gray granite countertops.
Everything in the kitchen gleamed—the granite, the white cabinets, the appliances.
It wasn’t too sleek and modern, but it wasn’t lacking anything, either.
It was the kind of kitchen where hungry kids would sit at the island with their homework, and tired parents could share a glass of wine at the end of the day. She wanted one just like it.
“I can order you something,” Rome said.
She opened the refrigerator. No, that was a cupboard. The next door was the built-in refrigerator. It was fully stocked, as she’d requested.
“No, I’ll cook. Are you hungry? It’s a little early for lunch, but I need to eat. It helps beat the jet lag.”
“You cook?” he asked dubiously.
She arched a brow, pulling out the makings of a salad. She also pulled out some chicken to pan sear. “Yes, I can cook. Am I ruining all your fantasies about royalty?”
His green gaze met hers.
The word fantasies seemed to hang in the air between them, and she felt her skin flush.
Oh boy, how would she survive two weeks in close proximity with this man? Her insides were alive, like they were filled with butterflies. No, Sofia Helena Elizabeth Marguerite, no lusting after your bodyguard.
But he’d admitted that he was attracted to her, that he’d thought of her. Fantasized about her. She fought the urge to rub her thighs together.
“You don’t need to cook for me,” he said.
She shrugged and started fixing the salad.
“I was told you’d received some threatening notes,” Rome said.
Sofie pulled a face. “Unfortunately, yes. It goes with the territory.”
“Your Caldovan security team seemed concerned. I’d like to see the notes.”
“I’ll get palace security to send you copies.” She dumped lettuce and other fixings in a bowl. She searched the large pot drawers and found a pan. Next, she poured in some olive oil into the pan, and started frying the chicken.
She turned and found Rome staring at her hand holding the wooden spoon.
“There’s a note in my bag,” she said.
His face changed, turning a little scary. He strode to her bag and yanked it open.
“Hey, you can’t just dive into a woman’s handbag uninvited.”
He ignored her and pulled out the note.
He smoothed it out, read it, and unsurprisingly, scowled. His grumpy vibe filled the room, and she hid her smile. My goodness, he was a big, grumpy hunk of deliciousness. Why did she find that even more attractive?
He looked up at her. “This is more than just some threatening letters.”
She scooped the cooked chicken out onto a plate to cool. Next, she pulled out a small bowl, and cracked an egg in, followed by more oil. She started whisking up the makings of a salad dressing from scratch. She hated store-bought dressings.
Besides, cooking calmed her.
“Yes, I have a weird stalker.”
“Who wants to kill you.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You aren’t going to let that happen, are you, Rome?”
His full lips flattened. “I’m taking this.” He slipped the note into his pocket. “Your security back home get any prints off the notes?”
She shook her head. “They were unable to identify anything that narrowed down who the notes might come from.”
“I’ll see what my guys can do.”
She served up two bowls of salad and eyed Rome’s big frame. She put an extra serving of chicken on his. She pushed the bowl his way, then sat on a stool.
Rome eyed the salad like it was a live grenade.
“I promise I’m a decent cook. My mother taught me.”
He still looked skeptical, but sat. “Your mother’s a princess and she cooks, too?”
“She wasn’t born a princess. She’s Australian, and a commoner. You haven’t heard the grand love story?”
He shook his head.