Page 43 of The Forbidden Bodyguard

There’s no way I can marry Tony Marino.

I can’t.

I can’t do this.

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AN HOUR LATER, we are home. Declan paces the floor in front of the gas fireplace of my penthouse like a tightly wound tiger.

Cole and Marshall lean against the wall and my heavy dining room table respectfully.

“Thank you for saving my ass, Marshall,” Marshall says, and Cole snorts.

I glance at the two men, wondering how they can be so nonchalant about the situation, but then again, they’ve probably faced far deadlier people.

Have they?

Tony is evil. I could feel it viscerally on the surface of my skin. Which tells me he wouldn’t think twice about shooting my father in the head.

“Thanks, sorry about losing my shit.” Declan rubs his forehead, then his eyes land on me, full of anger. Quite different from the man who held me in his arms on the ride home as if I were the woman he loved. “Nice first date.”

I glance away.

“It wasn’t a date,” I hiss at him.

“Stella, you want to tell us what the fuck is going on?” Cole asks.

“I can’t.” My voice is almost a whisper.

“Well, here’s a question: are you marrying this guy willingly, because you know there’s a law protecting you, right?” Marshall asks next.

My eyes lift to Declan’s, and I’m greeted with more of his wild anger.

That’s when I see it. All our chemistry and time we’ve spent together means more to him than just a job. We’ve grown closer. Sharing things about ourselves. My writing, his mom, and losing his dad.

This is more than just a job to him.

He is more than just my bodyguard.

Go enjoy your boyfriend. We marry in one week.

If I could turn back time and meet Declan a month ago, I would throw myself into his arms and tell him how wildly attracted to him I am. How I want to stay up all night talking and feel him deep within me.

I’d tell him things no one else knows.

I’d ask to meet his mom.

Hope he’d share some stories of his time as a SEAL.

I want to know him.

I want to feel the things I see sizzling in his angry eyes. I think I want what he wants.

But that ship has sailed.

That’s a selfish hope compared to being responsible for a man’s death. My father’s.

“The wedding has been set for next week.” I climb off the sofa and give them all a small, helpless smile and head upstairs. “Goodnight.”