Her father didn’t warn her.

Of course he didn’t. He preferred “announcements” that felt like explosions.

Like the explosion waiting for her in the living room.

She walked in, half-asleep, hair messy, hoodie hanging off one shoulder — and then she froze.

Because a man stood there.

Not a guest.

Not a family friend.

Not anyone who belonged in pretty homes with expensive furniture and glass chandeliers.

Tall.

All black clothing.

Tattoo peeking from his collar, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes like something that had seen too much darkness and still wasn’t afraid of it.

He wasn’t looking at her.

He was watching her.

Calmly.

Unblinking.

Like she was a problem he already knew how to solve.

Her father cleared his throat awkwardly. “Sweetheart, this is—”

“I don’t want him,” she said immediately.

The man didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe differently.

Her father sighed. “He’s your new security.”

She turned to him, whisper-screaming. “Dad, I don’t need a bodyguard!”

“You do,” he answered flatly. “Someone threatened you.”

She stared. Her heart lurched — but not out of fear.

Out of anger that she hadn’t been told.

Out of annoyance at the man who stood there like a silent shadow.

“And why him?” she demanded. “He looks like he kills people for breakfast.”

The man finally spoke.

“Lunch,” he corrected quietly. “Breakfast is too early.”

Her breath caught — not from fear, but because his voice was low, deep, and unfairly smooth.

The kind of voice that poured into your spine and stayed there.

“His name is Rafe,” her father said, pretending he didn’t hear the comment. “He’s the best.”

Rafe didn’t smile.

He didn’t deny the killing remark either.

She folded her arms. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Rafe looked directly at her for the first time, gaze slow, assessing, like he was reading a file she didn’t know she had.

“You need protection,” he said simply.

She bristled. “From what?”

He stepped closer, not rushing, not intimidating — just… approaching.

She held her ground stubbornly, even as his presence wrapped around her like smoke.

“From people who aren’t as patient as I am,” he murmured.

Her pulse jumped.

He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to it.

Then — unbelievably — he smirked.

Barely.

But enough to send heat crawling up her neck.

“See?” he said quietly. “Your heartbeat agrees.”

“You— you can’t just listen to my heartbeat!”

“You’re standing close enough,” he replied.

Her father clapped his hands loudly. “Okay! Enough flirting.”

She nearly choked. “FLIRTING?! With HIM?!”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, amused.

Her father left the room because he clearly feared a second explosion.

Now it was just her and Rafe.

The air shifted.

She swallowed. “You’re not staying.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make you quit.”

“Try,” he said softly.

God. The audacity.

She turned, hair swinging, and walked away — but she could feel him behind her, silent steps following effortlessly.

“Are you seriously—?!” She whirled around. “Why are you following me?!”

“Protection.”

“I don’t need it.”

“That’s what everyone says right before they get killed.”

She glared. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“Then stop smiling like that.”

“I’m not smiling.”

He wasn’t. But somehow he looked like he was enjoying this.

She marched toward the stairs.

He stayed two steps behind her — close enough to hear her breathe, far enough not to touch.

It annoyed her more than if he did touch.

At the top of the stairs, she spun again.

“Okay, rule number one. Stay out of my room.”

Rafe looked completely bored. “I don’t want to be in your room.”

“Good.”

“Unless you scream,” he added casually.

She blinked. “Why would I scream?”

He stepped in, just one step, just enough to make her knees soften.

“Because danger usually doesn’t knock.”

Her throat tightened.

“And,” he added softly, “you look like you scream easily.”

Her lips parted. “I— I don’t—”

He leaned in, voice a dark whisper. “Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

Her skin tingled.

Her breath hitched.

She hated that he noticed.

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Listening to my heartbeat!”

Rafe shrugged. “You’re the one standing close.”

Her face heated instantly. She stepped back — too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Nervous?”

“Not even a little,” she lied.

He smirked again — that devastating half-curve of lips that shouldn’t be legal.

“Princess,” he murmured, “you’re terrible at lying.”

She exhaled sharply. “This isn’t going to work. I don’t like you.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m not here for you to like me.”

“Then what are you here for?”

He stepped closer — slowly, deliberately — until she felt the warmth of him.

“To keep you alive.”

She shivered.

“And,” he added quietly, “to make sure you stop walking into danger like a kitten that thinks it’s a lion.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you just call me a kitten?”

“Mm.”

“Why?”

“Because you pretend you can claw,” he said softly, eyes dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second,

“but deep down you’re soft.”

Her knees weakened.

Rafe straightened, mask slipping back into cold professionalism.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be outside your door.”

She froze. “Outside my—? No. No way.”

“Someone threatened you,” he reminded. “I don’t take risks.”

“You can’t just stand guard like—”

“Princess,” he interrupted, voice low,

“I’m not asking for permission.”

And then he turned and walked to her doorway, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but lethal.

He wasn’t joking.

He really was going to stand there all night.

She slammed her door shut.

On the other side, she heard him chuckle — quiet, dark, amused.

And her heartbeat betrayed her again.

---

She woke up to the faint sound of boots outside her bedroom door—slow, controlled, deliberate. No one in this house walked like that except him.

Rafe.

Her personal nightmare.

Her unwanted shadow.

Her dangerously attractive bodyguard.

She stretched lazily, pretending she didn’t hear him, pretending she wasn’t aware of every shift of air when he passed. But her heart betrayed her—beating a little faster, a little louder.

Definitely louder than necessary.

She threw on a loose tee and shorts just to annoy him and opened the door.

He was standing there.

Black shirt.

Black jeans.

Black mood.

His arms were folded, tattoos peeking under his sleeve, jaw clenched like she had personally offended the sun.

“Morning, princess,” he said without looking at her. “You took long enough.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me? I didn’t ask you to wait.”

“You don’t have to ask.”

His eyes finally fell on her legs—bare legs.

He went still.

Oh.

So she did annoy him.

Good.

She lifted her chin. “Do you mind not staring at me like I’m doing something illegal?”

“Not illegal,” he murmured, gaze rising to her face with slow precision. “Just… distracting.”

Her heartbeat stuttered.

“Not my problem,” she said, brushing past him.

But he caught her wrist—gently, yet firmly enough to stop her.

His voice dipped, low and dangerous.

“Actually, sweetheart… it is.”

She turned, eyebrow arched.

“You planning to arrest me now?”

“No.”

His eyes darkened.

“But I am planning to make you go change.”

She gasped. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

He stepped closer, his breath ghosting her cheek.

“The man people try to kill you to get to,” he said quietly. “So yes, I get to complain about your outfit.”

Her lips parted in shock—then curved into a wicked smile.

“You sound jealous.”

He blinked once. A dangerous, controlled, annoyed blink.

“I’m not jealous,” he said.

“You’re absolutely jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you glaring at my shorts like they ran over your dog?”

That earned her a slow, deep exhale.

The kind he only took when fighting the urge to either strangle someone or kiss them. She hadn’t figured out which he wanted more.

Probably both.

He let go of her wrist. “Get ready. We’re leaving in ten.”

She walked away, hips swaying more than necessary—just because she knew he was watching.

And oh, he was.

She could feel his eyes burning holes into her spine.

---

Fifteen minutes later, she came out dressed in jeans.

A victory for him.

But she wore a fitted top just to annoy him again.

His eyes narrowed.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What?” she asked innocently.

“That.”

His gaze dipped to her top then snapped back up. “You know what.”

“Rafe,” she sighed dramatically, “I can’t help it if you get flustered over normal clothes.”

His jaw flexed—twice.

He opened the car door for her, but when she leaned in, his hand pressed against the frame right beside her head, caging her in.

Her breath hitched.

“Let me make something clear,” he said, voice dropping to that knee-weakening tone only he had. “If you were trying to get a reaction out of me…”

He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.

“…you succeeded.”

Heat shot down her spine.

But then he pulled away abruptly.

“Get in.”

She almost cursed.

He always did this—pulled her close only to push her away, leaving her breathless and annoyed.

She slid into the car.

He got in next to her, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.

And she hated how much she watched that hand.

---

The drive was quiet for five minutes.

Then she smirked.

“So… about the reaction I got—”

“Don’t.”

“It was pretty strong.”

“Stop.”

“You practically growled.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. Slowly. “Princess.”

“Yes?”

“Say one more word…” His hand tightened on the wheel. “…and I’ll gag you with your own attitude.”

Her entire face heated.

She stared at him.

He stared at the road like nothing happened.

“You can’t just say things like that!” she hissed.

“You wanted flirting. Don’t complain now.”

“That was not flirting!”

“It was.”

“It was a threat.”

“Same thing,” he muttered under his breath.

She covered her face with both hands.

She was going to die.

He was going to kill her—from embarrassment.

“Rafe?”

“What.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re trouble,” he said. “The dangerous kind.”

She peeked at him.

He was smirking slightly.

Just slightly.

Which for Rafe was basically a full-blown grin.

---

As they reached the underground parking lot, Rafe’s smile vanished.

He stopped the car so suddenly she jerked forward.

“What happened?” she whispered.

His eyes scanned the shadows. Sharp. Cold. Deadly.

“We’re not alone,” he said.

Her blood froze.

He reached under his seat, pulled out a gun, checked it with cold precision.

Then he turned to her.

“Stay behind me. Do not speak. Do not move. And do not try to play hero.”

She swallowed. “I’m not stupid.”

“Sometimes you are,” he said. “But not today.”

He opened her door and pulled her out by the waist, keeping her flush against him as he scanned the area with the gun raised.

Her heart hammered.

He felt it.

He leaned down, whispering against her temple:

“Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not.”

“You should be,” he murmured. “Because I’ll kill anyone who even looks at you wrong.”

Her breath caught.

Not from fear.

From the way he said it—

as if it was a promise, not a threat.

He pushed her gently behind him.

“Stay close,” he growled.

And she did.

Not because he told her to.

But because, for the first time…

she wanted to.

The underground parking lot felt colder than usual, as if the shadows themselves were holding their breath.

Rafe moved like a predator—silent, sharp, controlled.

She followed close behind him, her fingers unconsciously bunching the back of his shirt.

He didn’t look back, but he definitely felt it.

“Don’t cling,” he muttered.

“I’m not clinging,” she hissed.

“You’re literally holding onto me.”

She let go instantly, cheeks hot.

He smirked. Very slightly. Just enough to annoy her.

Typical.

He lowered his voice.

“I didn’t say I mind. I said don’t.”

She glared at him. “Rafe—”

He cut her off, holding up a hand.

A faint sound echoed from behind a pillar.

A footstep.

Light, quick, nervous.

Rafe’s posture changed instantly — muscles tense, gun up, jaw tight.

She had never seen him like this.

Focused.

Dangerous.

Cold.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Princess.”

His voice dropped dangerously.

“Don’t test me right now.”

She swallowed, but her stubbornness was stronger than common sense.

“I’m not hiding behind a pillar like a scared child. Either we go together, or I scream loud enough to wake the dead.”

Rafe went completely still.

Then he turned slowly, eyes burning into hers.

“Are you out of your mind?” he whispered harshly.

“Completely,” she said. “Blame yourself.”

He exhaled like she was the most exhausting human on earth.

But then… he grabbed her hand.

Not gently.

Not romantically.

But firmly.

As if anchoring her to him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if something happens to you, I swear I’ll—”

“What? Kill everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

She shouldn’t find that hot.

But she very much did.

---

They moved together, his hand wrapped around hers, keeping her close — not behind him anymore, but right beside him.

It felt strangely intimate.

Wrong.

Forbidden.

As if she wasn’t supposed to be this close to a man like him.

They reached the far side of the lot, and Rafe suddenly stopped.

She opened her mouth to ask why—

But he yanked her forward and spun her behind a concrete pillar.

His body pressed flush against hers to silence any noise she might make.

Her breath disappeared.

His chest was against hers.

His hand covered her mouth.

His other held the gun steady.

His lips brushed her forehead as he whispered—

“Someone’s here.”

Her whole body tensed.

Not in fear.

In something else.

Something embarrassingly warm.

He felt it.

He froze.

Then whispered, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“I am breathing,” she mouthed against his hand.

“No, you’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking,” she whispered back.

“You’re shaking.”

“Because you’re standing too close!”

His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second.

Just a fraction.

Then he looked away, jaw tightening.

“Not the time,” he muttered.

Right.

Someone possibly dangerous was nearby.

Great time for romance.

Brilliant.

---

The noise grew clearer — footsteps, moving fast.

Rafe shifted his body, shielding her completely.

He looked over his shoulder.

“Stay behind me,” he said softly.

“But—”

“No arguing.”

His tone turned to steel.

“I need you alive.”

Before she could respond, a figure turned the corner.

Rafe pointed the gun instantly.

The figure froze.

Hands up.

Eyes wide.

“Whoa, whoa! Don’t shoot!”

Her eyes widened.

The man stumbled forward.

Young. Nervous. Wearing a courier uniform.

Rafe didn’t lower his gun.

“Explain,” he ordered flatly.

“I—I’m here to deliver a package for—”

The man checked his wrist.

“—for Mr. Jonas.”

Her father.

Rafe’s expression didn’t change.

“Show me the package.”

The man handed it over with shaking hands.

Rafe inspected it from all angles.

Scanned the label.

Checked for weight.

Looked for tampering.

Then he handed it back without lowering the gun.

“Get out,” he said.

The courier practically sprinted away.

When the sound of footsteps finally faded, Rafe lowered the gun and turned to her.

His eyes were sharp.

Too sharp.

“You should have stayed upstairs,” he said quietly.

“I’m not helpless—”

“I know you’re not helpless.”

He stepped closer.

Very close.

“So stop trying to prove it. I don’t need you to be fearless. I need you to listen.”

Her heart jumped.

“Why?” she asked, softer than she intended.

“Because,” he said, voice dropping into a slow, dangerous whisper,

“if something happens to you, it won’t just kill you.”

He leaned in.

Barely an inch away from her lips.

“It’ll kill me too.”

Her breath caught.

His eyes flickered down.

Heat.

Conflict.

Restraint hanging by a thread.

She tilted her face up without meaning to.

An invitation.

A dare.

His jaw clenched so hard she heard it.

“Princess,” he warned.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like fire.”

He stared at her.

Long.

Silent.

Tormented.

Then he dragged a hand through his hair and stepped back violently, as if her proximity physically burned him.

“Get in the car,” he said hoarsely.

Before I do something stupid.”

She obeyed.

Because for the first time…

She wanted him to.

---

In the car, she glanced at him.

He was gripping the wheel too tightly.

Staring straight ahead.

Breathing unevenly.

She smirked.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t look at her. “What.”

“You were jealous earlier.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

He exhaled, annoyed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it.”

He didn’t answer.

But the slight, barely-there curve at the corner of his mouth?

That was enough.