Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
He scoffs, his tone gentle yet firm. “I saw you touch her… multiple times. Voluntarily. That has to mean something.”
I’m about to accuse him of lying until I remember how thoroughly monitored my transport vehicles are. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were a high-end escort slipping into the back of my town car Friday night or a member of the wealthiest family in Russia. If they’re in my domain for thirty seconds, my security team would have started a search on them twenty-nine seconds earlier.
Darius’s skills are extensive. He served in the military and the secret service and established a highly successful private security firm in under three years. His role within my empire is just as comprehensive as his previous roles. He’s been an asset for as long as Rafael and is just as nosy.
“And that almost kiss.” Air whistles between Rafael’s teeth as he fans the collar of his business shirt. “It made me hard.” Laughing, he dodges the fist I throw at his midsection. “I’m joking, Ark.” He twists to face me, walking backward. “Not about how quickly she disarmed you, though. I was starting to think anyone not paid to bring the heat wouldn’t be able to defrost your icy heart. She thawed it in half a second.”
I nod, my expression softening when I recall how quickly Mara lowered my defenses. I’d never felt such an immediate urge to both protect someone and wholly consume them, and the desire had nothing to do with Rafael pretending to be interested in her.
Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying. Mara is gorgeous with her thick, glossy hair, a body that could make any man weak at the knees, and a face far too innocent to corrupt. But Rafael’s interests have always leaned toward blondes.
My eyes snap to Rafael when he gives reason as to why the niggle in my gut hasn’t been soothed in days. “Though I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t understand your apprehension.”
He moves to my desk before tilting over it to whack his fingers on the keyboard of my laptop. He brings up a file similar to the ones I’ve been mulling over for several hours. It is incredibly scarce, and although it includes its own set of glossy photographs, they’re not glamor shots like the other files. They are of Mara’s stumble out of my car Friday night and her arrival at work this morning.
“How is there no employment record for her?”
Rafael smiles, happy I’m paying more attention to Mara’s dossier than my prospective wives-to-be to point out an inconsistency. “She is paid under the table. It means she earns less than her coworkers, but without a paper trail every taxpayer would give anything to sidestep.”
“So she is hiding something.”
I realize I said my comment out loud when Rafael replies to it. “Or just plain hiding.” His reply frustrates me, but not as much as what he says next. “Her stutter is a defense mechanism.” Unease blasts through eyes that have absorbed many horrid things. “Stammering arises to keep the subconscious off undesirable thoughts.” The cause of the painful glint in his eyes is exposed when he adds, “She only seems to do it around men, though.”
His theory should firm my stance that Mara isn’t the right woman to fulfill the role of my temporary wife, not persuade me to seek further confirmation that I scare the living shit out of her. But words shoot out of my mouth before I can stop them. “All men… or just me?”
The tightness of his jaw could excuse his delay in replying. The stiffness in mine made my question barely legible, so he could be facing the same difficulties.
After a beat, Rafael says, “She hasn’t been under surveillance long enough to give an adequate answer.”
I appreciate his honesty, but it does little to slacken my anger.
I didn’t request that Mara be placed under scrutiny, so why is she?
When I ask Rafael about this, he stammers like he didn’t lose his stutter with extensive speech therapy thirty years ago. “She… uh… we…”
The firmness of my jaw strengthens my reply. “Remove the hounds from her scent.”
“Ark—”
“Now, Rafael!” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. My security team, the people I trust to respect and protect my boundaries, crossed the line. “We came onto her turf, not the other way around. She doesn’t deserve this level of scrutiny. Her privacy should have never been violated.”
Some of my anger stems from how hard I pushed Mara Friday night to disclose the name of the person who hurt her, but if my team can’t understand the importance of respecting a virtual stranger’s privacy, how will they respond if my secrets are ever exposed? Would they protect them? Or undo all the hard work I’ve done the past three decades to keep them concealed?