Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(3)

“He’s early.” Booth raised a surprised brow. “He’s not supposed to arrive until five.”

“Punctuality is a good sign, I suppose.” Though half an hour early might be overkill.

The car door opened, and a large black boot planted itself on the driveway. A second later, the biggest man I’d ever seen in real life unfolded himself from the front seat, and my mouth turned bone dry.

Holy. Hotness.

My new bodyguard had to be at least six foot four, maybe even six-five, with solid, sculpted muscle packed onto every inch of his powerful frame. Longish black hair grazed his collar and fell over one gunmetal-gray eye, and his legs were so long he ate up the distance between us in three strides.

For someone so large, he moved with surprising stealth. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t have noticed him approach at all.

He stopped in front of me, and I swore my body tilted forward a centimeter, unable to resist his gravitational pull. I was also strangely tempted to run my hand through his thick dark locks. Most veterans kept their hair military-style short even after leaving the service, but clearly, he wasn’t one of them.

“Rhys Larsen.” His deep, gravelly voice rolled over me like a velvety caress. Now that he was closer, I spotted a thin scar slashing through his left eyebrow, adding a hint of menace to his dark good looks. Stubble darkened his jaw, and a hint of a tattoo peeked out from both sleeves of his shirt.

He was the opposite of the preppy, clean-shaven types I usually went for, but that didn’t stop a swarm of butterflies from taking flight in my stomach.

I was so flustered by their appearance I forgot to respond until Booth let out a small cough.

“I’m Bridget. It’s nice to meet you.” I hoped neither man noticed the flush creeping over my cheeks.

I omitted the Princess title on purpose. It seemed too pretentious for casual, one-on-one settings.

I did, however, notice Rhys didn’t address me as Your Highness the way Booth did. I didn’t mind—I’d been trying to get Booth to call me by my first name for years—but it was another sign my new guard would be nothing like my old one.

“You have to move.”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your house.” Rhys tilted his head toward my spacious but cozy two-bedroom abode. “It’s a security nightmare. I don’t know who signed off on the location, but you have to move.”

The butterflies screeched to a halt.

We’d met less than two minutes ago, and he was already ordering me around like he was the boss. Who does he think he is? “I’ve lived here for two years. I’ve never had an issue.”

“It only takes one time.”

“I’m not moving.” I punctuated my words with a sharpness I rarely used, but Rhys’s condescending tone grated on my nerves.

Any attraction I’d felt toward him crumbled into ash, dying the quickest death in my history with the opposite sex.

Not that it would’ve gone anywhere. He was, after all, my bodyguard, but it would’ve been nice to have eye candy without wanting to drop-kick him into the next century.

Men. They always ruined it by opening their mouths.

“You’re the security expert,” I added coolly. “Figure it out.”

Rhys glowered at me beneath thick, dark brows. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had glowered at me.

“Yes, Your Highness.” His inflection on the last two words made a mockery of the title, and the embers of indignation in my stomach stoked brighter.

I opened my mouth to respond—with what, I wasn’t sure, because he hadn’t been outright hostile—but Booth cut in before I said something I would regret.

“Why don’t we go inside? It looks like it’s about to rain,” he said quickly.

Rhys and I looked up. The clear blue sky winked back at us.

Booth cleared his throat. “You never know. Rain showers come out of nowhere,” he muttered. “After you, Your Highness.”

We entered the house in silence.

I shrugged off my coat and hung it on the brass tree by the door before making another stab at civility. “Would you like something to drink?”

Irritation still stabbed at me, but I hated confrontation, and I didn’t want my relationship with my new bodyguard to start on such a sour note.

“No.” Rhys scanned the living room, which I’d decorated in shades of jade green and cream. A housekeeper came by twice a month to deep clean, but I kept the place tidy myself for the most part.

“Why don’t we get to know each other?” Booth said in a jovial, too-loud voice. “Er, I mean you and Rhys, Your Highness. We can talk needs, expectations, schedules…”

“Excellent idea.” I mustered a strained smile and gestured Rhys toward the couch. “Please. Sit.”

For the next forty-five minutes, we ran through logistics for the transition. Booth would remain my bodyguard until Monday, but Rhys would shadow him until then so he could get a feel for how things worked.

“This is all fine.” Rhys closed the file containing a detailed breakdown of my class and weekly schedules, upcoming public events, and expected travel. “Let me be frank, Princess Bridget. You are not my first, nor will you be the last, royal I’ve guarded. I’ve worked with Harper Security for five years, and I’ve never had a client harmed while under my protection. Do you want to know why?”