me.”
His jaw tensed; perhaps he clenched his teeth in response to her imperious tone. But he didn’t apologize or argue. He only headed for the doorway, as if she were going to blindly follow him.
“I’m not leaving,” she explained. She had no intention of going where she couldn’t trust anyone.
* * *
T HE WOMAN INFURIATED him. From the moment he’d met her, he hadn’t been able to figure her out. She was unlike anyone else he’d ever known. “If you’re not leaving, why the hell did I just stop you from taking off in the Jeep?”
“I was trying to get away from you,” she said dispassionately, as if her words weren’t like a knife plunged in his back.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t trust you,” she said—again so matter-of-factly that it was obvious she had never considered trusting him at all.
But before he could defend himself, she continued, “I can’t trust anyone on St. Pierre. That’s why I’m not going back.”
He understood her reasons. But he had a job to do—protect her. And after the close call at the airport, he wasn’t convinced he could do that alone. Especially not here. He had a gun but no bullets, a shoulder throbbing with pain and a possible infection. “You can’t stay here.”
She let out a wistful sigh. “I know.”
She’d been leaving earlier, and in a disguise, because everyone knew where she was now. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay hidden.
“Where were you going?” he asked again.
She chuckled but without humor. “You really are just like everyone else,” she mused. “You think I’m an idiot. But you shouldn’t believe my image. It’s a lie just like the rest of my life has been.”
He’d already learned that for himself.
She lifted her chin with stubbornness and pride. “I’m not telling you where I’m going.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell you. You’re going with me.” Back to St. Pierre? Could he bring her back there? To the family who’d lied to her? To the stranger she didn’t want to marry?
His stomach churned with revulsion over the thought of her marrying anyone, of her lying in anyone else’s bed, in anyone else’s arms...
He forced away the repugnance and the twinges of jealousy. He had no right to either. Unless...
“We are leaving,” he continued. “As soon as you tell me who the father of your baby is.”
She flinched, as if he’d slapped her. Or insulted her. Because she’d often been photographed with movie stars and athletes, the media had painted her as a promiscuous princess. But he had intimately learned exactly how wrong they had been about her—as wrong as when they’d claimed she was ditzy.
She was neither.
“You’ve been working for my father too long,” she said. From the disdain in her voice, the comment was obviously more complaint than compliment. “You’re beginning to act just like him.”
He winced now, definitely offended. Fortunately he had only been hired to protect the man, not to like him. King St. Pierre was tough to like. He was a difficult man. Period.
“Since I do work for your father, I need to carry out his orders,” Whit replied, choosing to ignore the insult and focus on what was more important. “He wants you safely back in St. Pierre.”
She snorted—a sound he would have thought her entirely too ladylike to make. Wouldn’t some princess etiquette class in one of those fancy boarding schools she’d attended have polished the ability to snort right out of her?
She lifted her chin again, looking every bit the royal ruler despite her dirty jeans and blouse. “You’re crazy to think I will be safe in St. Pierre.”
He might have agreed with her if he hadn’t just re-established his friendship with Aaron. He trusted that man with his life and hers. “You’ll be safer there than you are here where you were just nearly abducted and shot at...”
She might have been right about it being a crime of opportunity. Maybe it was just a dangerous country