âStay here,â he whispered, and reached beneath his tuxedo jacket to pull his gun from his holster. Armed, he headed toward her bedroom.
âBe careful,â she whispered back, her sweet voice trembling with concern. For him?
Her words touched something inside Whitâsomething that heâd closed off years ago. The part of him that had yearned to have someoneâanyoneâgive a damn about him. Of course she didnât really care, but those words distracted him enough that when he stepped inside the bedroom, the intruder got the drop on him. Before his eyes could even adjust to the darkness, something struck his headâknocking him down and knocking him outâleaving the princess at the mercy of the intruder â¦
Bestselling, award-winning author LISA CHILDS writes paranormal and contemporary romance for Mills & Boon. She lives in Michigan with her two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks sheâs a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her website, www.lisachilds.com, or snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435, USA.
Six months earlier â¦
âIâm going to kill him! Let me in there!â
Whit Howell had been hired as the kingâs bodyguard to protect him from political threats and criminalsânot from his own daughter. But as furious as Princess Gabriella St. Pierre was at the moment, she posed the greatest threat Whit had encountered yet during the ten weeks heâd been on the job.
âYour royal highness,â he addressed her as protocol required even though they were alone in the hallway outside the door to the kingâs wing of the palace. âYour father has retired for the night and will not be disturbed.â
âYou damn well better believe heâs going to be disturbed,â she said, her usually soft, sweet voice rising to a nearly hysterical shout. âHeâll be lucky to be alive when Iâm done with him!â She rushed toward the double mahogany doors, but Whit stepped in front of them.
She slammed into him, her breasts flattening against his chest. With her stiletto heels on, her forehead came to his chin. Her hairâa thick golden brown, was falling over the tiara on her head and into her face and rubbing against his throat.
With her face flushed and caramel-brown eyes flashing with temper, she had never been more beautiful. He doubted she would graciously accept that compliment, though, so he bit his tongue to hold it back. Of course he had noticed she was attractive before but in the kind of untouchable, one-dimensional way that a model in a magazine was attractive. She hadnât seemed real then.
She certainly hadnât acted like any woman heâd ever known. Not only was she beautiful but also sweet and graciousâeven to the people her father considered servants. She had seemed more fairy-tale fantasy than reality.
She was real now. And quite touchable. She put her hands on his arms and tried to shove him aside, so she could get through the doors to her fatherâs rooms.
While she was tall, she was slenderâwith not enough muscle to budge him. She let out a low growl of frustration and then fisted her hands and started pounding on his chest. âGet out of my way! Get out of my way!â
Damn. If she raised her voice any louder, she was likely to disturb the king. And Whit couldnât lose this security job. Assignments like this had been hard to come by the past three years. So he stepped closer to her, using his body to gently push her back from the door. She kept swinging even as she stumbled. So he caught her around the waist and lifted herâup high to swing her over his shoulder. Then he touched a button on the two-way radio in his ear.
âAaron?â
âPut me down!â Princess Gabriella screamed, pounding on his back now.
He crossed the wide hall, moving farther away from the tall wood doors to the kingâs wing. Then he touched the button again to call his partner. Former partner. They were no longer in the security business together. They had actually been hired separately to protect the king.
It was Aaronâs night off, which heâd had to postpone until after the ball that had been held earlier that evening. But usually Aaron would still be on the job; the man was always on the job.
âAaron? Timmer?â
Maybe his partner answered but Whit couldnât hear him over the princessâs shouts. Her yelling had drawn some of the other palace guards to the hall outside the kingâs private quarters. Whit gestured at one of the men heâd personally hired, a man with whom heâd served in Afghanistan, like he had with Aaron Timmer. He could trust him to guard King St. Pierre while he deposited the princess in her private rooms.
âStop! Put me down!â she ordered, her tone nearly as imperious as her fatherâs.
There was none of the sweetness and graciousness Whit had seen in her the past couple of months that heâd been guarding the king. While she had always talked to him as she did to all the