1. Carolina

Chapter 1

Carolina

There’s a painting in the national gallery by Caravaggio, and whenever I visit it draws me in, rendering me unable to look away for the longest time. It’s a mix of beauty and threat.

The artist uses a technique called tenebrism, the mixing of light and dark. The contrast can be violent between the two, and often the darkness becomes the most dominant feature of the painting.

The painting is also dark in the themes it touches on. It’s beautiful, though. The darkness of it is seductive in a way it shouldn’t be.

The man sitting in front of me right now reminds me viscerally of that painting.

Dark and light.

Beauty and threat.

His eyes are bright and intelligent, and he has a warm smile on his face, but there’s a sense of genuine danger cloaking him somehow. A feeling that the polite warmth he is displaying is nothing but a veneer. A slash of light on the dark canvas of his true soul.

He’s big, which adds to the threat. Huge, in fact. Intimidating. He might be wearing a smart suit, but the ink crawling up his neck and the scarred knuckles attest to him not being an ordinary office worker.

I swallow hard and glance down at my hands folded in my lap.

Daddy called this meeting and thrust this surprise on me, and I’m not sure how to take it.

This man, this beast, is to be my new bodyguard.

I don’t want close protection. I argued with my father until I was blue in the face, but on this, he won’t back down.

“So, you served your country?” Daddy asks the man, in his rich, plummy voice. Daddy is so old school that he still rolls his Rs on some words.

“Yes, sir,” the man says.

“So, Samuel. It says here, you’ve trained and worked with American Special Forces, carried out work for NATO and various governments both in a military and private capacity?” Daddy flicks through some of the pages on his lap.

Great, I think, a mercenary.

“Correct.”

“And your skill set is?” Father raises his brows.

I almost laugh. That curriculum vitae and his whole countenance tells you this man’s skill set quite clearly. Violence. Danger. Death.

“I can neutralize any threat to your daughter with a high degree of accuracy.” Samuel smiles, then adds, “Sir.”

My father clears his throat, and his left foot starts to tap. A distinct sign he’s uncomfortable. So Father feels the danger crackling around this stranger too. Yet he expects me to be guarded by him. Like a sheep being sent off with a wolf.

“If we do go ahead with this, Samuel, there are some logistics I’m not certain of. For instance, I wasn’t sure if we should let it be known my daughter has security or keep it quiet. Her life has been messed up enough due to the decisions I made. She’s been forced to take a break from work, and she’s a presenter on the national television station here, so it is not great she’s doing so. People will already be talking. Perhaps the discreet route would be better. Perhaps … just possibly someone less … obvious than yourself?” Daddy clears his throat, and his foot starts up its relentless dance once more.

Samuel, I commit his name to memory.

He leans forward and steeples his fingers together. Under the pale blue of his shirt cuffs, I spy more ink crawling up his wrist on one side. Jesus, is he totally covered in ink?

“Can I be brutally honest?” Samuel’s voice is like syrup over nails.

“Of course,” Daddy says with a dip of his head.

“You want people to see your daughter has protection. Now, the original threat is against yourself, no? You didn’t react, and so they went for your daughter? This tells me the people threatening you are trying to intimidate and scare you. This isn’t a situation where, say, your daughter has a stalker who is obsessed with her. This is a situation where some people wish to scare you by threatening and possibly, harming, her. Having visible protection for her is a deterrent. It wouldn’t be for some unhinged, lovelorn stalker, but for these people, it will. I’m not claiming it will stop them attempting to harass or hurt you, ma’am.” For the first time he turns his full attention on me, and I’m caught utterly helpless in the laser beam of his gaze. “However, it might make them think twice.”

“Do you think one person is enough?” Daddy asks. “I did say to Mr. Silvanov that I thought I might need two people.”

“I am going to become your daughter’s shadow. Better one person who knows her routine, her movements, and the people around her, inside out, than a team of three or four who rotate. I will not be leaving her side.”

The panic I’ve been feeling all week builds inside, threatening to burst out. With fake calm, I stand and walk to the drinks cabinet at the far side of the room. I pour myself a neat vodka, not bothering with ice, and take it back to my seat, sipping it as I fold myself into the chair again.

Trapped. Each day, I feel more and more trapped. Ever since Daddy received the threats against me from a cartel of crime lords, I’ve lost a little more of myself each day. Firstly, I had to stop work. Then I had to cancel my cleaner. Then my weekly facial and manicure. Finally, Daddy told me I had to stay with him and Mother until he had protection arranged.

To top it all off, I found out, at the same damn time, that my boyfriend has been fucking my friend and colleague. So yeah, it’s been a shitty week, and my nerves are so frayed they’re about to tear completely.

Not working is enough to drive me nuts. Add in not sleeping or eating and far too much wine, and I’m fully aware I’m a woman heading for a breakdown if this carries on. I cannot believe that mere days ago my world was normal. Then Daddy got the threats and my on-again off-again boyfriend fucked my friend. Talk about timing.

I take another drink of vodka and finally speak. “I am certain you will be leaving my side. You won’t be sleeping with me.”

The minute I say it, I realize I’ve put my foot in my mouth. My heart rate picks up, and my cheeks heat. Damn it. I did not mean it that way. Stealing a glance at the man, I will my overheating face to behave.

Samuel doesn’t react with a cocky smile or a joke; he simply nods. “Ma’am, I will be sleeping in the room right next to yours. There will be alarms fitted across the threshold to your bedroom, and to your windows. Anyone entering the room trips the alarms.”

I blink at him as I parse what he is saying. “You mean I will be a prisoner in my own home?”

“No. The alarm will be activated only when you go to bed. Once you are awake, I will turn it off.”

“You?”

He frowns. “Yes, me.”

“No. I want a panel in the room so I can turn it off. What if I want to go downstairs for a glass of water?”

“You call out to me. Or ring me.”

“On the phone?” I am so shocked by what is being said, I can’t think straight.

“You can use the phone if you wish. Or, simply shout. Your bedroom door, and mine, will both be open.”

Oh, God, this won’t do.

The man is scary, but he’s also insanely hot, in a way I find disturbing because he really shouldn’t be.

It’s very rare I get intimidated by people. Being born an heiress and getting a first-class degree from Oxford will imbue one with a certain sense of confidence. This man, however, makes me feel small and weak. His presence alone is enough to turn most people to mushy incoherence.

No. It’s not happening.

I turn to my father and smile. “Daddy, I know you’re worried about me, but really? I cannot be expected to try to sleep and relax like that? I must have my privacy.” I use the title he prefers me to. I tried to call him Dad once, and he said to stick with Daddy. Mummy is insistent on her being Mummy not Mum, too. It’s a class thing, I think. Posh people in England tend to use the terms, and we are most definitely posh.

“I’ll be asleep in the next room, not spying on you. You’ll have privacy.” Samuel’s deep voice resonates in the room.

“Why can’t I have a panel in my room? If someone were to enter my bedroom, you’d still be alerted by the alarm, but it means I can turn it off if I want to get a glass of water.” The whole thing is annoying me because he’s so damn implacable, but what he’s saying is crazy. Daddy cannot be taking this seriously.

I also realize that they are talking as if this is already a done deal. How does Samuel know about my house and where I sleep? Damn it, has Daddy already hired him?

Samuel leans even farther forward, his biceps bunching through the suit jacket impressively. “If you go downstairs for a drink and turn the alarm off, someone could grab you down there, and I might not hear. I could sleep right through the whole event.”

“No one is going to grab me. The house is very safe, and I have a dog.” I point to Brutus sleeping by my feet in his basket.

“That’s not a dog,” Samuel says.

I bristle. “It most certainly is a dog.” God, he’s one very annoying, abrasive man.

“Okay. Well, you have three now.”

“What?”

“Dogs,” he says, and now he does grin. “You have three dogs.”

Oh, help. That smile. What is that? This man, this annoying, dark, scary-ass man cannot have a smile like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

Then it hits me once more. The painting. Dark and light. The smile is nothing but a violent dash of light against this man’s dark canvas, and I can’t be lured in by it.

“Since when do I have three dogs?”

“Since I purchased two trained Belgian Malinois, for you at Samuel’s recommendation.” Daddy smiles at me. He’s giving me his patented please don’t make a fuss smile.

I grind my teeth but say nothing. I love dogs, so having two more won’t be a hardship. Still, it would have been nice to be consulted.

Samuel sits back and spreads his legs a little as he relaxes in the seat. The movement pulls the material of his pants around his thick thighs. My God, is he massive everywhere?

The thought immediately has my cheeks heating once more, and I glance away, letting my gaze dart around the room. But like a moth to the light, it simply lands back on the most interesting thing in the vicinity. Samuel.

His hair is short and a bit messy, as if he’s growing out a buzz cut and hasn’t decided what to do with it yet. His short beard, more like long stubble, is darker than the hair on his head, but I can tell the blond on his head is from time spent in the sun. I bet in winter, it’s the same dark blond as his beard.

Samuel’s skin is tan, and his eyes striking blue.

“When does this new regime begin?” I ask my father.

“Right now.” His answer has my stomach plummeting like a plane with both engines cut.

“So, we’re a go?” Samuel asks.

My father sighs. “I feel we have no choice, Carolina. You are not happy about this, I can tell, but your safety comes before your short-term happiness.”

He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew how fucking awful my week had been and how on edge I am.

“How does this work?” Daddy asks.

“Once you sign the contract, it’s in effect immediately. I don’t leave Carolina’s sight until the threat is over or neutralized.”

Great. No time to mentally prepare myself for this. My security detail will begin immediately. This huge man is going to be in my space twenty-four-seven. The dark energy he carries with him will fill my home, my safe place.

Panic rises in me, and I try my best to tamp it down. This won’t be for long, I tell myself. It’s to keep me safe, and that’s the most important thing.

My gaze alights on Samuel’s face, and his focus is right back on me, not missing a thing.

“Don’t worry, Carolina,” he says, using my name for the first time. “I won’t intrude. I will keep out of your way, and you won’t know I’m there.”

Hearing my name from his lips is disconcerting. He says it with a familiarity he hasn’t earned, but also with respect.

“I’ll fetch my things, shall I then, sir?” Samuel looks to my father.

Damn it, I’m almost thirty, and I’m being ignored by the men in the room as if I have no say in the matter.

“Yes, please do. We will wait here.” My father smiles at Samuel, and he nods then heads out of the room.

The moment he’s gone, I turn to my father, but he holds his hands up.

“My darling, do this for me. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you because of my mistake. I’m begging you.”

It’s hardly his mistake. He commissioned a book from a new author and that book, part fictional, part journalistic re-telling of a crime, got too close to the truth for some high up people in the underground crime world. Daddy couldn’t have known the author had put too much detail in the book, and even, of all the sins to commit, so poorly disguised real people.

Now both the author of the expose of how some of the wealthy in London have exploited street gangs, and Daddy, are being threatened. Me too, as of this week.

My fear spikes again. “Daddy, you’re scaring me when you talk this way. If the threat is so significant, what makes you think one man can neutralize it?”

“If he can singlehandedly rescue two hostages and take out the perpetrators without harming the innocent women and children in the compound, I believe he can keep you safe.”

He did what?

Wow.

Okay, that’s heroic.

“He’s a bit scary,” I say softly. “Lots of tattoos… And his knuckles—all scarred.” I shudder, but whether in outright fear or something else entirely, I’m not sure.

“Darling, you’re not marrying him. He’s simply there to protect you. I wouldn’t care if he had his nose pierced.”

I let out a decidedly unladylike snort at that and laugh. Daddy hates nose piercings with a passion, bordering on the unhinged.

The clacking of heels on the parquet floor has me turning. Mummy wafts into the room, all silk and Dior perfume. She’s beautiful in a way I am not. My last serious boyfriend before the cheating douche was so weirdly enthralled with her; it’s why we broke up. Not that Mummy knows as much. She’d be horrified and hurt that she’d inadvertently caused such a thing. Mummy is a darling. A beautiful, spoiled, air-headed sweetheart who knows nothing much of what goes on in the world beyond when the latest Dior couture is dropping, or who the season’s it designer is.

Still, you can’t help but love her because she’s just so kind. She also worships Daddy. They’re a strange pair, but it works. He’s serious, well read, into politics, art, literature, and hunting. Mummy loves saving animals, fashion, beauty, and shopping. He stopped hunting for her, and now only does dummy trails where the foxes aren’t real because of her agony over animal cruelty.

I take after him, and hence most men in my life prefer her. It doesn’t matter that she’s twenty-three years older than me. She’s beautiful, flirtatious, and fun, and men prefer that over serious, prickly, and uptight. The only time I’m fun is when I’m drunk, and then I tend to simply spill over into messy and annoying.

Heavy boots scuff the wood that Mummy just tap-danced over, and Samuel re-enters the room with a hefty green bag slung over one shoulder. He places the bag on the floor and flicks his gaze to my mother.

She’s a world-famous supermodel. It doesn’t help my jealousy knowing most of my boyfriends will have seen pictures of her half-naked many times in their lives. She did Pirelli calendars and Penthouse as well as runways for the top fashion houses. She’s one of the few models to be both a pin-up and a genuine high-end fashion muse.

I glance at her and am shocked to see her eyes widen as she looks right back at Samuel. My mother never looks at men that way. Only Daddy. She gives a tiny shake of her head as if shaking loose an aberrant thought and composes herself.

Damn, I expect Samuel will be star struck like the rest of them, but it seems it might go both ways.

However, Samuel merely gives a nod at Mummy and in his deep but quiet voice, says, “Ma’am,” then dips his head.

Mummy smiles. “Hello. Erm, nice to meet you.”

Her stunning, huge eyes, keep darting to me, and her mouth ticks up in a small smile. I’m a little confused until she speaks again.

“You must be a new friend of Carolina’s?”

Oh, God, she thinks he’s my boyfriend. I almost laugh. He’s most definitely not my type. Yes, I might have a bit of a weird fascination with the man, the way a child might with dinosaurs, or say spiders, because they are scary but cool, but I don’t want to sleep with him. I really don’t. He’s entirely far too rough and ready for my liking.

I bet he’d leave you raw. Not in a good way. I like my men like my Daddy— cultured, intelligent, and refined. Interesting. If a man can’t interest me and turn my brain on, he can’t get me going in regions farther south.

“No, darling,” Daddy says as he sips his whisky. “This is Carolina’s new bodyguard. You know, because of the … unpleasantness.”

I don’t think she’s been told everything, which is good because she does tend to panic.

“Oh, yes. Well, nice to meet you, young man. Would you like a drink? Brandy perhaps?”

Young man? He must be at least thirty, if not a little older. Maybe mid-thirties.

Not young by any stretch.

“No thank you, ma’am; not while I’m working.”

“Are you working now?” Mummy frowns.

“From the moment I arrived.”

Is he not going to drink anything the whole time he’s here? Maybe he doesn’t drink? I do. Sometimes far too much.

“I think you ought to take Samuel here to your house, darling, and show him around.” Daddy stands, and his haughty Henningborne profile is as strong now as it was when he was a young man. I got his nose, sadly. It’s a strong nose, good on a man, less so on a woman. I would have preferred Mummy’s cute button nose, but hey-ho.

I fluff my hair, shorter now than usual. I was feeling bored and trapped by not working, and so I had my hairdresser come to my parents’ house and cut it to a long bob. It isn’t straight anymore, as the shorter cut and layers brought out my natural wave, and my hairdresser told me to go with it instead of always battling with the irons.

“Darling?” Daddy fixes me with the look. The one that urges you not to argue.

Taking a deep breath in, I smile at my father. “Of course, Daddy. Excellent suggestion. I’ll pack my things.”

Samuel’s brow crinkles.

“I’ve been staying here,” I explain. “Daddy doesn’t think it is safe for me to go home, or to work. I’m taking a sabbatical for now. Luckily my employers have been very understanding.”

Heading out of the room, I hear my mother asking Samuel questions about where he’s from, and he replies, “Moved around, army brat,” before his voice fades. The man isn’t very forthcoming or chatty.

Then again, I tell myself, as I enter my childhood room, that’s a good thing. I don’t want to have to make small talk with the bodyguard.

Packing only takes me five minutes because many of my things I never took out of my bag. I always have clothes here anyway for when I might come stay for the weekend. Same goes for the country estate my parents own. The biggest pile of stuff I need to gather are work notes, books, and my toiletries. I have an unhealthy addiction to skin products and have spent the economy of a small nation in my lifetime pursuit of perfect skin. I might not have Mother’s natural beauty, but I have damn good skin because I’ve taken care of it since I was twelve. That was the age my mother sat me down and told me that one day I’d get old and invisible so not to rely on my looks because when they went it was heartbreaking.

I spent years in my teens trying to ensure I stayed young, and it became a habit. All in the pursuit of not becoming invisible, which Mummy told me was a living death.

She lied that day. She never became invisible and yet I’ve always been invisible; next to her anyway. Age has not withered her.

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