Born To Protect. Virginia Kantra
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type to inspire confidence in a pampered royal, but he was good at what he did, damn it. Had been good at what he did. Had been the best.
“Relax. I haven’t agreed to take the job yet.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Recon,” he answered. No SEAL team undertook a mission without assembling a target folder.
He was no longer a SEAL.
He heard the crack as she set down the glass bottle she still held in her hands. “You’re checking me out?” Her voice was ice over outrage.
He shrugged. “Your father wants you protected twenty-four-seven. It’s only reasonable to see if we can stand each other long enough for me to get the job done.”
Christina gave him a frosty look. His stupid body reacted as if a bar girl in Bolivia had just given him the eye. Definitely, he’d been out of action too long.
“Very well,” the princess said. “Now that we’ve established that we can’t, as you say, stand each other, you can refuse your father’s money with a clear conscience.”
But that was the problem. Jack couldn’t. Not until Christina had some understanding of exactly how much danger she was in. Not until he did. No matter how little he relished playing baby-sitter, no matter how satisfying it would be to tell the major to go to hell, no matter how often Jack told himself he wasn’t a warrior anymore, his own stubborn need to protect wouldn’t let him walk away from a situation. He at least needed to report to the old man that the princess was working long hours alone with no security.
Frustrated, he stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “Forget the money. Look at where things stand. You’ve got your older brother missing and presumed dead. You’ve got bombs going off in your homeland. You’ve got some sheik guy—”
She crossed her arms across her shielding white lab coat. “Ahmed Kamal of Tamir.”
“Whatever. Some Sheik Kamal trying to claim the kingdom and kidnap your big sister, and your parents are worried sick about you. Don’t you think you ought to take some precautions?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “I have taken precautions. I live in Montana.”
Her dry tone, her unexpected humor, slipped under his guard like a knife. He rubbed his jaw with the back of one hand to wipe off his answering grin. “Your father doesn’t think that’s good enough.”
Christina sighed. “Mr. Dalton, my parents don’t think anything is good enough for their children. I honor them for that. I love them. But I am not going to sacrifice my privacy, compromise my focus and interrupt my work by accepting the services of a completely unnecessary bodyguard. I assure you, I am quite safe here. No one can find me.”
Despite his frustration, he liked the aloof, precise way she had of speaking. Not that he accepted for one minute what she was saying, but she sounded really smart. “I found you,” he pointed out.
“I’m sure you had directions.”
“So will Kamal’s men.”
“Assuming I’m a target. I have only your word for that. And I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be working for Sheik Ahmed.”
Jack regarded her grimly. “Are you always this pissy?”
Her lips curved. “I’ve been told so. Yes.”
He had a sudden urge to back her up against the counter and bite into that regal, smiling mouth. Hell. He really had been out of action too long. He fished in his back pocket for his wallet, ignoring the slight pull in his shoulder, and tossed his identification onto the table. His gaze dared her to pick it up.
After a moment’s hesitation, she did. Cautious, he thought again, with approval. She looked first at his Texas driver’s license and then at the white plastic card issued by the Department of Veterans Affairs.
Her brows drew together. “‘Senior Chief’? You are U.S. military?”
“Former military. Navy SEAL, retired.” Forced out, he thought. He for damn sure hadn’t quit. Navy SEALs weren’t quitters.
“You are young to be retired.”
Bitterness flooded his mouth. “Medical retirement,” he said evenly.
“Ah.” The soft sound could have signaled anything. Acceptance. Pity. Dismissal.
Jack hated all three.
“I can still function, your highness,” he snapped.
She regarded him steadily. He wondered how much of his rage and desperation he’d given away by that one stupid remark.
“I wasn’t questioning your qualifications, Senior Chief,” she said quietly. “You are obviously able to protect me. Assuming I needed your protection, which I do not.”
“Your father thinks you do.”
“My father is a warm and sentimental man who is still grieving the loss of his only son. It is natural for him to overreact.”
“Yeah? Well, my father is a cold and calculating son of a bitch who wouldn’t waste time or manpower on a dead-end assignment. If he says you need a keeper, then you do.”
Christina recoiled. No one talked to her that way. No one. Her heart was beating way too fast. She felt threatened—by his warning, yes, but even more by his attitude. She was a Sebastiani. She did not need this hard, unshaved stranger to remind her of the world she’d left behind. She did not want him invading her sanctuary.
She met his gaze and almost shuddered at the raw energy that burned in those bitter blue eyes. She should not have to deal with this. She was woefully unequipped to deal with him.
And she could never let him know.
Years of training supported her head and stiffened her spine. “Mr. Dalton, I have made a life and a career quite separate from my family. It is highly unlikely that terrorists are traveling across nine thousand miles and ten time zones to kidnap an inconsequential member of the royal house of Montebello.”
His jaw set. Even through her agitation and the shadow of darkening beard, she noticed it was a very nicely squared jaw.
“And what if you’re wrong?” he demanded. “You’re not inconsequential to your father. What if Kamal decides to use you for leverage in this land dispute?”
“I am not without friends—or defenses. This is Montana. Strangers are noticed here.”
“Nobody noticed me. Or stopped me.”
No one would dare, she thought. He looked dangerous. Alien. His tough, lean physique was more than a match for most university types, even the outdoorsy breed attracted to field sciences in Montana.
And she had no excuse for inspecting his physique. Her cheeks grew warm.
She turned off the gas burners before the combination of their heat and her inattention set fire to the lab. “Perhaps they noticed and decided not to say anything. The other benefit to living in Montana is that people here tend to mind their own business. And if you would go back to yours, I could continue with mine.”
It was a nice line. She was proud of it. Unfortunately, he was less impressed.
He stuck his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans, the pose emphasizing his blatant masculinity. “What if I decide to make you my business? What are you going to do about it?”
“I have no idea,” she admitted frankly. “You’re too big to ignore. If you are also too rude to leave, I suppose I would call my father and tell him to have you dismissed.”
“Do all the men in your life do what you tell them to, princess?”
There were no other men in her life.
A royal princess—even an “inconsequential” one from a tiny island