Thorne Princess(10)

“Keller? Did you bring me kombucha? I’m so dehydrated. I’m still mad…”

The last words died in her throat. Her eyes widened as she took me in for the first time.

An impersonal smirk touched my lips. “Hello, Hallie.”

In response, the little shit grabbed the closest thing to her from the floor—a San Pellegrino bottle—smashed it against the edge of the lounger and tried to stab the side of my thigh with it. She came a few inches shy of my knee when I caught her wrist easily, twisting it. Not enough to break it, but enough to indicate I wasn’t ruling the option out if she acted up.

“I’m not here to hurt you, but I will if you don’t let. Go.”

The broken bottle dropped on the floor. I kicked it to the other side of the balcony. She gasped, her big, blue eyes—innocent as a doe’s first glance at its mother—clung to my face desperately.

“I—I—I…” she stuttered. “Please. I…I’ll give you money. Jewelry. Anything you need.”

Anything that wouldn’t require her to answer to anyone. Typical brat, after all. Her parents must’ve warned her I wouldn’t put up with her antics.

“I don’t want anything you have to offer,” I said quietly. Understatement of the century.

“I’ll fight.” She tried to pull her wrist away, wiggling in her spot. “I’ll scream and I’ll bite you.”

Don’t threaten me with a good time.

I loosened my grip on her wrist. “Let’s pump the brakes a little. Do you—”

Hallie started screaming. Deafening, desperate wails for help. I had no choice but to shut her up by plastering my palm over her mouth. She tried to bite me as she kicked her legs frantically in the air, trying to break free. Jesus, if she was making a stink this big with me, how had she reacted with her father when he told her she was getting a new bodyguard?

Her nails dug into my hand, breaking the skin, until my blood trickled over her chin. I had to look away. It reminded me too much of my extracurricular activities.

“You can fight all you want. You’ll tire out before I do,” I said, my voice flat and bored. My muscles barely flexed as I pinned her to the lounger. “This is a done deal, Miss Thorne.”

Then she started crying.

The first out of many dramatic fits, no doubt. Did she want to get robbed and killed? Not all of my clients’ spawn wanted close protection, but none tried to actively attack me thus far.

She was lucky I had a hard-on for the Anthony Thorne connection or I’d have left her house right then and there.

Her tears raced down the back of my hand, disappearing into my blazer.

“Cut it out.” I avoided touching anything but her face and shoulders. Or looking anywhere but the neck up. “This is for your own good.”

Through the muffled sobs against my palm, I heard her hiccup, “Please don’t rape me.”

My blood turned cold. Bile hit the back of my throat.

Rape her?

When I unglued my hand from her mouth, stepping back, she took advantage of not being held anymore, and jumped up from the lounger, stumbling on the parquet toward her bedroom.

I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole if the future of this planet depended on it. Polar bears and rainforests be damned. “Did you just say rape?”

I accidentally got a good look at her ass as she crawled across the floor like a D-list actress in a scary movie. I now fully understood why President Thorne wanted to put security on that ass. It invited trouble. Round and smooth, with an ivy tattoo crawling up her leg, lacing around her inner thigh. A lesser man would wonder what it felt like to knead it as he bent her against one of her ridiculous designer credenzas and plunged into her mercilessly while she begged him to stop.

A lesser one, but not me.

Leisurely, I followed her as she crashed into furniture, patting her nightstands and linens desperately. She was sobbing too hard to speak.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” I held her phone in my palm, raising it in the air. The little color on her face had drained completely. She looked so genuinely scared, I was beginning to actively hate the situation we were both in.

“Next time don’t leave your phone on the first floor. Now that I’ve got your attention, let me be clear—I am not going to touch you, not going to harass you, and I’m sure as hell not going to rape you. Put something on and meet me downstairs, Miss Thorne. We are going to have a little chat. Fully clothed.”

With that, I exited the room and went downstairs to roam her kitchen. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Nothing seemed to be remotely edible. It was all clean juices, pre-packed salads, and organic bars that could moonlight as horse feed.

Hallie joined me in the kitchen twenty minutes later. She was dressed in some kind of crocheted dress and was wide-eyed and shaking. Her nose was pink. She’d cried a lot before coming down here.

What was her angle with the histrionics? Had this alone been enough to make weaker guards run from the job?

I took a sip of my Nespresso, the one good thing about this house thus far.

“Sit down,” I ordered, leaning against her dark green granite island.

She did, her eyes hard on mine, like it was a hostage situation instead of an adult conversation.

“I just want you to know…” She took a ragged breath as she closed her eyes.