The Guardian's Virgin Ward

“I’ll be really, really scared when I get your letter on the subject three months from now, I promise,” she told him after a moment. With deep and unmistakable sarcasm and no apparent recognition of the precariousness of her situation.

“Careful,” he warned her, and he hardly recognized his own voice.

She sniffed. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then you are even more foolish than you appear.”

He saw some sort of strong emotion he couldn’t quite identify wash over her then, making her stand straighter and cross her arms beneath her breasts which was...not at all helpful.

She—is—your—ward, Izar snapped at himself.

What was wrong with him that he couldn’t seem to remember that tonight? She and her stake in the company were his responsibility until she turned twenty-five or married, whatever came first. The weight of that had been at the forefront of his thoughts since the day her parents had died. It was why he’d dedicated himself with such ferocity to the business all this time. Why had it deserted him entirely tonight?

But he knew why. It was the way she stood before him, beautiful and wholly unimpressed with him, which was a true novelty. It was that mouthwatering expanse of her thighs, bared for all the world to see. Worse, for him to see. It was the sad truth that, apparently, he really was that twisted, after all. That ruined, from the inside out, exactly as he’d always suspected.

“I told you I would bodily remove you from this city the moment you became any kind of scandal,” he bit out at her, and it was an effort to keep himself from raising his voice. He didn’t entirely succeed. “Congratulations. You lasted longer than I thought you would, but that day has finally arrived.”

Liliana frowned. “You told me that when I was eighteen and setting off for college. Newsflash, I survived. The city didn’t burn down around me and your precious company is fine. No luxury brands have been harmed by my attempt to have a life, Izar. You can exhale.”

Yet another unfamiliar sensation washed over him then, and once more, it took Izar a long moment to recognize it. It had been a while since anyone had gotten under his skin like this. Or at all. Not since his days on the pitch, in fact, where he’d been a bit of a hothead and his opponents had sometimes used that against him. He’d thought he’d locked that side of himself away for good when he’d left the sport.

Why Liliana, of all people, should have the power to needle him when no one else alive could or would dare, Izar could not imagine.

Nor did he care for it.

When he spoke again his voice rivaled the cutting November winds outside.

“You remain my responsibility, whether you like it or not. That means that you cannot live in an unprotected slum like this, no matter how bohemian you currently imagine yourself to be. You are entirely too wealthy for these games.”

“I’m not bohemian.” She laughed as if he’d told her a joke. “At all.”

“On that we agree. It was one thing to hide behind a false name while you were in school. This is not school any longer, Liliana. How long did you really think it would take for someone to discover who you are and use it against you? And let us be clear. When I say against you, what I mean is against the company, which is the same thing as against me.”

She shook her head at him as if he was being ridiculous. As if he, Izar Agustin, renowned the world over for his business acumen and corporate vision, was capable of being any such thing.

“I moved in here five months ago and, so far, the only undesirable person to discover me is you.”

“That is where you are wrong.” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but he saw her stiffen. He tried and failed to regret the fact he clearly got to her, too. “Why do you think I am here?”

“Because you live to stamp on dreams and ruin lives, I assume. Mine in particular. You know, the usual.”

“Of course.” It was amazing how hard it was to hold on to his temper tonight, truly astonishing. “And because I was approached by a piece of tabloid journalist scum who told me he intended to run a vile little article on how I took over the company and consigned the much-adored if seldom-seen Brooks heiress to a life of poverty and toil. Right here in this grimy little hellhole.” Izar did nothing to soften his scowl. He didn’t even try. “I assured him that was not possible, as no one would describe your parents’ perfectly good brownstone in Greenwich Village as grimy, much less a hole of any kind. Imagine my surprise to discover that you did not live there, as you had assured me you did following your graduation. In writing. I was forced to track you down. To this place. Which is so much worse than a mere grimy hole it defies description.”

He didn’t know what he expected. But it wasn’t for Liliana to do nothing for a moment. Then, after another long moment, blow out a breath and roll her eyes as if what he’d said was...annoying. Nothing more than annoying.

He felt his entire body go taut in disbelief.

“The Brooks heiress can go to hell,” she announced, and Izar noticed she swayed ever so slightly on her feet as she made this proclamation. He’d thought she’d looked a bit flushed before, hadn’t he? “And so can you.”

“Liliana.” Her name was a grim thing in his mouth. “Are you drunk?”

“Certainly not.” She moved across the room and placed the mostly empty wineglass she’d been clutching in one fist on her desktop. With rather more theatric care than was strictly necessary. “I may have had a glass of wine. Like any grown-ass woman over the age of twenty-one in this country, not that it’s any of your concern.”

“I think you’ll find it is, in fact, my concern. As is everything else you do. This is unacceptable, all of this. I trusted you.”

“You did not trust me.” Her back was an unfortunately fascinating line, graceful and supple and—stop this. Now. “You delivered a set of instructions you expected me to obey because I always have before. Your failure to notice that I’m not actually as spineless and obedient as you’d like me to be is your issue, not mine. But that’s what happens when you abandon someone for a decade.”

“Again, it appears I must correct you. My issues are your issues when and if I say they are.”

She turned back to face him then, her gaze dark. “Enjoy yourself while you can, Izar. The clock is ticking. You only have two years left to bully me. What happens when your time runs out?”

He had the urge to put his hands on her and show her exactly what could happen—

But no. Of course he did no such thing. He was her guardian, not an animal. And he hadn’t let passion rule him so completely since he was a small boy kicking footballs against crumbling, graffiti-covered walls in his run-down neighborhood, imagining that might transport him out of his dreary life as the unwanted charity case in his resentful uncle’s overcrowded home.

He wasn’t about to backslide now. Not even for the surprisingly intriguing woman his ward had gone and become without his permission.

“This conversation is over,” he informed her, with the expectation of instant obedience. “I’m taking you out of this place at once. I’d suggest you pack a bag now, while I’m feeling generous.”

She didn’t move. She didn’t react at all, in fact, which was far more intriguing than it ought to have been. An alarm went off inside him, deep and low.

“I’m not a grieving twelve-year-old any longer, Izar,” she said mildly enough, though her blue eyes flashed. “I’m not going to meekly bow my head and let you toss me away into some mausoleum on a mountaintop because you find my existence troublesome. Not again.”

“Will you not?” he asked with soft menace. “Are you quite sure?”

He thought she shivered slightly at that, but if she did she covered it in an instant.

“You control the company. My birthright.” Did he imagine the edge in her voice on that last word? He knew he did not imagine the way her eyes flashed at him. “But you no longer control me.”

Izar could think of any number of ways to control her—but none of them were the least bit appropriate. He gritted his teeth.

“Careful, Liliana. It is up to me, after all, to determine whether or not your claim to your shares should be honored when you turn twenty-five. If I think you’re not up to the challenge of it, I can keep you at arm’s length for another five years. Or did you not bother to read the fine print of the birthright you are suddenly so interested in?”

“Is that a threat?” she threw right back at him. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. It doesn’t matter. Threaten me all you want. I’m not letting you lock me away in another prison. It’s not going to happen.”

“Then throw a fit,” he invited her. “Like the stroppy child you are so determined to pretend you are not. It will not affect the outcome in any way.”

He shrugged as if he didn’t care what she did. Because he never had before and he shouldn’t now, damn it. He slid his phone out of his pocket and dialed his driver, then lifted the phone to his ear.

Only to watch in sheer astonishment as Liliana closed the distance between them as if she wasn’t at all intimidated by him, lifted her slender hand and then swatted his mobile out of his grip.

The phone hurtled through the air, making an arc across the quiet bedroom. It seemed to take a lifetime, or perhaps that was simply his disbelief. But then it hit the hardwood floor with a clattering sound and skidded out of sight beneath the bed.

For a moment they both stood there and stared. Her chest rose and fell, threatening the neckline that was already too low for Izar’s peace of mind. The color was high on her cheeks and there was something hectic in her gaze, making her eyes entirely too blue. She looked wild, untamed. Golden and gorgeous.

She looked like something straight out of his favorite fantasies.

He was losing his grip.

“That,” Izar said distinctly, and through his teeth, “was unwise.”

“I want to live here,” Liliana told him fiercely, too much passion in her voice, her eyes. And she was much too close to him, besides. “In two years I’ll have to take my place at the company the way my parents intended, but until then, I want to be normal. I don’t want to live in a fishbowl. I don’t want the world commenting on every move I make and every piece of clothing I put on as if it’s their business.”

She threw up her hands in emphasis or maybe to illustrate how strongly she felt these things. God help him, but Izar did not want to feel. He did not want to be near anyone who did. Feelings were no good. They led nowhere he wanted to go. He indulged the passions of the flesh because they were easily sated by his ever-revolving selection of mistresses and because he was, after all, a man. But he didn’t feel. He had sex, then moved on. Passion like this was lethal. He’d excised it a long time ago.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to someone who fairly oozed it.

And she was still speaking. “I want to be a regular person. I want to complain about my job all week, then stand in loud, tacky bars or binge watch television all weekend with my friends. I want the whole experience. Where’s the harm in that?”

Some distant voice inside him told him to step back. To remove himself from the temptation of such a ferociously earnest expression on such a beautiful face. The way she tilted her head back so she could stand that close to him and still look him in the eye, as if it was necessary she confront him this way. Her faint scent, maddeningly vague, that was somehow a part of the heat of her skin and its softness at the same time, tangling inside of him and making him long for things that were impossible. More than impossible.

He didn’t understand how any of this had happened. But he couldn’t make this situation any worse than it already was tonight. He couldn’t.

“I sympathize.” He did not touch her. He did not bend his head to taste that full mouth and he did not test the smoothness of her bared arms with his palms. But he also did not back away. “But that is not a choice you have.”

“It should be my choice.”

“Perhaps. But, instead, it is mine.”

“I don’t—”

“Do you really think this is wise, Liliana?” he bit out, cutting her off before he stopped remembering why he should. “Do you really think pushing me is going to get you what you want?”

“What will?” she demanded.

And later he might very well rip this moment apart. He might dig through his every motivation and question what the hell he’d been thinking—but here, now, he wasn’t sure he thought at all. It was as if she was a cliff when he’d expected a long, flat, familiar meadow, and he’d plummeted straight over the side without any warning. And there was nothing to be done for it now. He should have shut this down and bundled her off into his waiting car the moment she’d walked into the room and confirmed every last thing that smirking cockroach had told him. He shouldn’t have engaged with her. He shouldn’t have listened to a word she said, because how could it matter? And who cared if the woman who was still his duty had gone and transformed herself into the physical manifestation of his deepest desires? That he noticed at all was appalling. He’d have to add that to his laundry list of reasons to loathe himself. Later.

But in that moment, Izar did more than notice. He let his eyes drift down to her lips and linger there. Almost as if he was powerless to help himself—or stop.

“Oh,” she said softly, and the word was ripe with too many meanings. Revelation and understanding. Something like wonder. A touch of daring besides, and it poured through him, molten hot and impossible to resist. “Honey, not vinegar. I should have realized. The great and terrible Izar Agustin only acts tough.”

She threw herself forward and into him, catching herself with her palms flat against his chest even as his hands came up to grip her upper arms. Automatically, he told himself. To push her away, he told himself—but he didn’t.

Her skin was every bit as smooth to the touch as he’d tried not to imagine. The contact was like fire, surging through him, making him insane enough to understand he was hot and hard and unwilling to do a damn thing to change it—

And then Liliana surged up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

CHAPTER THREE

KISSING IZAR WAS a great deal like leaping from the top of a high building into an endlessly frozen arctic sea. A giddy rush and then the shock of the cold. The feel of his cruel mouth against hers, his taut chest beneath her hands as if she’d slapped them on a blazing radiator, his hard-packed, solid body too close and too big and too much—

Maybe she had been tipsy before. Because she wasn’t now. At all. And she couldn’t imagine what in the name of all that was holy she thought she was doing.

For a moment, they stood there as if turned to stone. Liliana’s heart kicked at her, hard enough to knock her down, though she didn’t let it.

Liliana’s whole life seemed to flash before her in an instant. Most of it revolving around the frustrating man whose large, hard hands gripped her upper arms, whose fresh, clean scent was mixed with something dark and spicy that she suspected was all him, and whose mouth was as hard and unyielding as it had looked in all those tabloid photographs.

Her heart walloped her a second time. Harder, maybe.

The wine she’d drunk seemed to spin around inside her, playing back every single word she’d said to her guardian since she’d walked into this room tonight. Liliana shivered. What in the name of God had she been thinking? Taunting Izar? Was she mad? He was going to throw her into a dark little cell somewhere and never, ever let her out again, and that would be if she was lucky—

But first she had to deal with the fact that on top of all the things she’d said and the fact she’d attacked him and possibly damaged his mobile phone in the bargain, she’d also thrust herself upon him. She hadn’t looked him in the face and now she was touching him. She was standing here in her bedroom with her lips attached to his. How would she ever live that down? How could she possibly begin to apologize for such a lapse in judgment?

Her heart kicked at her a third time.

Liliana tensed, ready to push herself away from him and, if there was a God, disappear through the floor or die on the spot as planned—

But Izar made a low, growling sort of noise. She’d never heard anything like it before, yet it seemed to move through her body, curling around her like smoke. Holding her as tight as he did.

Then he angled his head, hauled her even closer and took control.

And everything exploded.

The world disappeared in the searing flash of it, wild and hot and insane. There was nothing left. No scrap of her at all. There was only the masterful way Izar took her mouth, parting her lips to slip between them and setting her on fire.

He tasted her. He tempted her. He hauled her even closer until she was sprawled against his chest, her breasts flattened against the wall of his torso. And she hardly knew herself, because all she could do was meet him as he pillaged her mouth, winding her arms around his neck and trying to get even closer to him, if that was possible.

There was too much. He was too much. She found her fingers tangling in his crisp, dark hair and could feel even that like a bolt of lightning, searing into her and through her. And she didn’t care if she burned alive as long as she could keep doing this. Forever.

He deepened his kiss and she arched against him, understanding when she rubbed against him what that hardness was. She wanted more. She wanted him.

She wanted everything.

Because, finally, it all made sense. Her whole life. Her long evenings spent tracking pictures of Izar across the globe, from one glittering party tailor-made for the tabloids to the next. Her tense and painful long-distance relationship with this man and his infrequent letters that had cast such a long and dark shadow over the last decade. It seemed so obvious, suddenly, that everything had been leading here, to the exultation of his mouth on hers, urging her on, making her pant and shiver and think she might die if she couldn’t feel the scrape of his marvelous jaw on every part of her skin.

It was as if she’d lived all this time in the dark without ever realizing there was another way, but this kiss threw the door wide open. It let in the light, and the light filled her to bursting.

Izar wrenched his mouth from hers and set her back from him, his black eyes blazing and that arrogant mouth of his she knew the taste of, now, in a grim line. His breathing was uneven, too. Liliana tried to catch her own breath as he muttered something in Spanish, low and harsh. She didn’t need to understand the actual words to know it was filthy and likely profane, besides. She could see it in his face.

“This cannot happen,” he gritted out.

“It already has,” she replied simply.

Izar’s hands tightened on her arms—and who knew her arms had been an erogenous zone all this time?—and then he dropped them to his side.

“This is unacceptable.” He ran a hand over his close-cut black hair, his mouth twisting even as his black eyes glittered with more of that light. She recognized it now. She could feel it inside of her, tearing through dark places she hadn’t even known were there. “You are my ward.”

“How dirty,” Liliana said softly, and she only realized after she’d said it that she was teasing him. She was teasing Izar, a man she’d found intimidating when he’d been nothing but autocratic lines on pieces of paper, an email, the occasional text. The world had clearly started spinning in the opposite direction. “How will you bear to look at yourself in the mirror again?”

His mouth flattened. “This is not a joke.”

“If you say so. Sir.”

He actually growled at her.

And Liliana didn’t know what was possessing her tonight. First it had been too much wine, perhaps, though she didn’t feel in the least bit buzzy any longer. Not from alcohol, anyway. Who knew what it was now? She only knew that there was magic in her blood and a dark, delicious need she didn’t entirely understand, and that she’d never felt anything like this before.

It was him. Maybe it had always been him.

Who wanted to suffer through sloppy kisses from floppy-haired Columbia students when there was this? When there was Izar—a man who was actually, legitimately renowned across the globe for his seduction skills?

And her life was already tangled up with his. It always had been, and no matter that she hadn’t been near enough to touch him in a decade. Maybe that was why she wasn’t as surprised by this as she should have been. As he clearly was.

“Guardian, ward—what do words matter at this point?” she asked. Reasonably, she thought. “They’re just words.”

“This is not a debate.” He sounded pained. And something far darker than merely furious. His dark eyes glittered. “It’s bad enough that any of this occurred. We will not now have a discussion about my moral failings, thank you.”

“It’s not as if you’ve ever been any kind of father figure to me,” she pointed out. She still had no idea where this was coming from, her sudden ability to speak to him as if he was anybody else. To stand up to him, even. “Or any kind of family at all, for that matter. You’ve gone out of your way to make sure we have little to no actual relationship.”

Something that seemed, now, to make a lot of sense. To be necessary, even. In the same way that she now knew how he tasted.

“Get your coat,” Izar told her furiously. Or maybe it wasn’t fury that made him tense like that, his hands in fists at his side. Maybe it was something more basic, more elemental. Maybe it matched the thing she could feel spiraling around and around inside of her. “It’s cold outside.”

“Okay,” she said obediently, because that was what he expected of her. The instant obedience of a schoolgirl.

But Liliana wasn’t a schoolgirl any longer. And there was no point telling Izar that. There was no point making proclamations about the fact she was an adult. She couldn’t think of anything more likely to convince him that she was actually still twelve years old, as he clearly believed she was.

Instead of wasting her breath, she reached down to the hem of her tunic, grasped it tight and pulled the whole thing up and over her head. She heard his harsh, indrawn breath as she tossed the filmy thing aside, but she wasn’t done. She pulled the pins out of her hair and shook her head, letting it all tumble down around her.

Then she stood there before her guardian in nothing but over-the-knee boots and a tiny little pair of bright teal panties.

Izar looked...tortured. Frozen solid and torn apart at once. That fascinating muscle pulsed in his jaw. His eyes were blacker than she’d ever imagined eyes could be. So black and so bold her nipples pinched into tight, high points.

He made that growling noise again.

“Put your clothes back on. Now.” He sounded even more furious than before.

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