A Bodyguard For The Princess (A Bad Boy Romance) (35 page)

Come to think of it, she had texted it to me.
Shit.
“Yeah. Sorry. I just landed,” I said, embarrassed.

“It’s all right. I hear people from San Fran are a tad airheaded,” he replied.

“Excuse me?” I blurted in disbelief, my face red with embarrassment.

Before I could argue, he said, “I’m at the entrance to the east gate. I’m holding a sign that says ‘Amy.’ Find me there.”

My mouth was in a tight line as I hung up. I’d heard people from New York weren’t very polite, and now I knew it was true. How could someone who didn’t even know me insult me so casually, like he was ordering a smoothie or something? I couldn’t believe his nerve.

I followed the signs to the east gate, my purple rolling suitcase trailing behind me as I weaved in and out of hurrying people. I’d packed lightly because my mom had mostly new stuff for me at the new house. My dad, angel that he was, had helped me pack up my dorm room. I looked down at my suitcase. My whole life was in that bag, and I wished I had packed more because I felt so unprepared.

My heart thudded a bit louder than usual as I searched for the sign, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. His voice had struck a chord in me. Finally, I saw my name, messily scrawled on a sheet of eight-by-ten-inch printer paper. Holding this makeshift sign was a tall guy with shoulder-length brown hair. He wore sunglasses, and in one hand, he held a cigarette. I hurried over to him. He towered over me. I was five-foot-two, and he must have been at least six-foot-three.

He looked down at me and took a puff of his cigarette. “You must be Amy,” he said, the smoke trailing out of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Ashton,” I greeted. I tried to shake his hand, but he just looked at it, raising an eyebrow. He gave me a gentle pound on the shoulder.

“’Sup, sis? Let me help you put this in the car.”

Dumbstruck by his casual rudeness, I let him take my bag. I walked to the car without speaking to him again. He got in and grinned at me.

“Took you long enough. I thought they were going to kick me out because I was parked here for a while.”

“I came as fast as I could. I’ll let that comment slide, though, since I know people from New York are impatient,” I replied, throwing some sass at him. He damn well deserved it.

He took his sunglasses off, and I got a glimpse of his honey-brown, almost gold eyes. I gaped at his sexiness. He had the most beautiful face I had ever seen on a man. His jawline was chiseled, and his lips were full and symmetrical. He had long eyelashes and flawless, slightly tanned skin. His eyebrow was pierced, and I could see a mermaid tattoo on one of his arms, halfway concealed by his long black sleeve.

“All right. Settle down. We have a bit of a ride ahead of us, so I hope you like rock music,” he informed me.

I turned sharply in my seat, trying to keep my eyes focused ahead and off the beautiful man sitting next to me. “I don’t mind rock,” I replied, my voice quivering a bit.

My voice always quivered when I got nervous. My heart pounded again, and I felt myself getting wet. This person was going to be my stepbrother? Some sexy, bad boy, east coast, rude asshole was my future stepbrother?
Ugh!
He blasted rock music and pulled roughly out of our spot. I fastened my seat belt nervously, gritting my teeth.

“Mind driving like a normal human?” I bellowed, then added, “And can you please turn the music down?”

He laughed softly. His sexy laugh sent chills up my spine. It was even sexier than his voice. “Chill. We do things faster around here. You’ll get used to it.”

He did as I asked, though, and lowered the music to a reasonable level. I pulled out my phone and texted Sarah.

Amy:
You’ll never believe this.

Sarah:
What?

Amy:
My stepbrother-to-be just picked me up. He’s a hunk.

Sarah:
LOL. Seriously?

Amy:
Yeah, but he’s rude and he drives like a dipshit.

Sarah:
He’d better be careful! I don’t want to have to come to New York and beat him up!

Amy:
I’ll keep you posted.

Sarah:
Please do!

His music made my ear drums vibrate, and they began to pop from the change in altitude. I clutched my purse close to me and tried not to look at him. I feared that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop. After about five minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I stole another glance at him. He was looking at me, too.
Crap.

“My dad told me a lot about you. He says you’re an English major,” he commented, then took another puff of his cigarette. He opened the window to the car and let some of the smoke trail out.

My face was red. “I am. It’s my passion—writing, that is.”

“Do you take out loans for that?” he asked.

“Yes. I do… Why do you ask?”

“Well, you won’t be able to get much of a job with that degree. It’s not very practical.”

I couldn’t believe his audacity! What right did he have to tell me about my future? “Oh yeah? Well, what do you do, Mr. Informative?”

“I fix shit. Something that makes a lot of money.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of rolled up twenties.

I knew he was right. My father fixed things for a living. I looked down, and my heart sank as I thought about my dad. “My dad does HVAC, and he does make a very decent living.”

“See? Told you.” He grinned, displaying his perfectly white smile.

The city faded into suburbia as we grew closer to New Rochelle.

“Do you drive?” Ashton asked.

“I got my license when I was eighteen, and I have a car at home.”

“Can you drive a stick shift like this?”

“No,” I said.

“I like driving stick because you can feel the car purr. See?”

He grabbed my hand and placed it on the stick. The touch felt like electricity. He put the car into another gear, and I could hear the engine purring. I wrenched my hand away.

“I think I’ll stick to automatic, thanks,” I snapped.

He laughed. “Someone looks nervous. Why is that?”

Damn him. How could he tell? “I’m not nervous. I just had a long flight, and I really want to see my mom,” I lied.

I lied about not being nervous. I missed my mom incredibly. Even though she was more of a friend to me than anything else, I loved her dearly. I felt like she needed me—she needed me to make sure she was okay. Sometimes, I felt more like the mother and she was the carefree child, always down for the next ride.

“My dad is taking good care of her. Don’t worry.”

“You mean she’s taking care of him? She’s too independent to let anyone take care of her,” I answered with a cool tone.

“True. She’s a talented businesswoman. I mean, her bed and breakfast is pretty badass,” he said thoughtfully.

“You’ve seen it? I’ve only seen pictures so far.”

“Yeah. It’s a nice old Victorian house. I had to fix some stuff for her. The boiler was a mess,” he said, furrowing his brow in thought. “But I’m good with my hands, so it wasn’t a huge issue.” He winked at me.

I wanted to bury my head in my purse to avoid looking at him. I was so turned on. No one had ever had this kind of an instant impact on me before. He was such an asshole, but there was something so attractive about it. Damn him. I was quiet the rest of the ride.

We pulled up to a medium-sized, paved driveway, and the large, white condo came into view. He pulled into the driveway so quickly that my seatbelt tightened in response, almost injuring my shoulder.

“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Ashton said.

I glared at him and got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. The property was tree-lined, and Gary had put up a cliché white picket fence at my mom’s request. This was her American dream. Ashton popped the trunk, and I walked back to get my bag.

“No. I’ll get it,” he said. I was surprised he showed any kind of gentlemanly behavior. “You’re tiny. Don’t want you to break a nail,” he teased.

“Ugh,” I mumbled. I turned around, refusing to argue with him anymore. My mother appeared at the door, and her face was tanned and happy—cheerful like always. I instantly forgot my anger at Ashton. “Mom!” I cried, running to her.

She opened her arms to me, embracing me tightly. She rocked me back and forth in her arms and took a step back, smoothing my shirt. “Hi, sweetie! Welcome home!”

Gary appeared behind her, carrying a tray of lemonade. He looked so relaxed in a white button down shirt and slacks. I was used to seeing pictures of him in suits, and when I had met him briefly, he had been wearing a suit as well.

“Hi, Gary,” I greeted.

He gave me a warm hug. “Welcome,” he said. “We are so glad to have you!”

Ashton was behind me. I felt him graze my back, that electric touch radiating through me again.

“Hope Ashton didn’t scare you too much on the ride over. He always drives like a madman,” he said with a dark chuckle.

Ashton

My dad knew me far too well. He taught me how to drive, after all.

“I was careful with her,” I grumbled pleasantly.

The first time I saw her, I held on to my composure, but she was so hot. I needed to catch my breath as I put her bag in the car at the airport. I towered over her, and damn, did I have a thing for short girls. Her mother, Emma, was a lot taller, but I could see the resemblance. Emma was a good-looking lady. My dad had made a good catch, but her daughter was like nothing else.

The whole ride had left me with a raging hard on. She was so damn beautiful. There was also something innocent about her, about the way she spoke. Her voice was slightly timid, and her eyes were always filled with curiosity. When our hands touched at that brief moment in the car, I knew I wanted to fuck her.

“Why don’t you show Amy her room?” my dad asked.

She didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, she looked down, her face turning red. I was good at telling if a girl wanted me, and she definitely did.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Emma said.

“Okay,” Amy replied in her soft, sexy voice.

“I’ll take this upstairs, then. Follow me.” I felt bad about being an asshole before, but I couldn’t help it. I was sometimes like that. Most girls seemed to like it, but she was hostile as hell.

“We will have brunch ready when you come down,” Emma said.

“Can’t wait. You’re a great cook,” I said politely. I was used to having Emma around, and I liked her a lot more than my dad’s other girlfriends from the past.

“You first,” Amy said.

I climbed the stairs and waited until our parents were out of earshot. “Chill. It’s not like I was trying to look at your ass or anything,” I joked. Besides, I already had, and it was a very cute little ass. I’d stared at it when she was talking to her mom.

“Hmph,”she replied indignantly.

We climbed the third flight of stairs to her room. Her mother and I had painted it a light purple, which was apparently her favorite color. I opened the door and let her in. She looked back at me and smiled.

“Wow! It’s beautiful!” she gasped.

“Thanks. I helped paint it.” I stuck my chest out proudly.

“Well, you did a great job. Where is your room?”

“This way, through the bathroom,” I said.

Her face turned ashen. “Wait. We share a bathroom?!”

“I’m not that dirty. Chill,” I teased. “Besides, it’s only temporary. My dad is having someone put in my own bathroom. They figured, for now, that we were old enough to be chill about it.”

“I don’t know if this is appropriate. Sometimes my mom forgets I’m not twelve anymore.”

“I’ve gotten into too much trouble for my dad not to know I’m a man,” I said, moving closer to her. She looked nervously up at me again with her big brown eyes.

“Let’s go downstairs. I’m hungry,” she said quickly, leaving me alone in her room. I laughed to myself and left her bags there, following her downstairs.

Brunch was waiting for us. Mounds of french toast, bacon, and fresh fruit were spread out on the table. I began buttering my toast, watching Amy from the corner of my eye. She looked around with her curiously innocent gaze and sat as far away from me as she could. This one was going to play hard-to-get. I could almost sense the chase before it even started.

“How was your trip, sweetie?” Emma asked her daughter.

Amy cleared her throat and took a sip of her orange juice before speaking. “It was really smooth. Best flight I’ve ever been on, by far.”

“Do you like your room?” my dad asked.

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” she replied, smiling sheepishly. She decided to leave out the part about how she hated sharing a bathroom with me.

“You two will have to communicate or set a schedule for using the bathroom,” Emma commented. “We are having someone put in a new bathroom for Ashton, but Gary is a bit picky about who does the work.”

“I told you I could do it, Dad,” I said.

“You do a great job, but we both know you’re not the most consistent individual,” my dad joked.