The Bodyguard (Norcross #4) - Anna Hackett Page 0,9
at the end of the day. She wanted one just like it.
“I can order you something,” Rome said.
She opened the refrigerator. No, that was a cupboard. The next door was the built-in refrigerator. It was fully stocked, as she’d requested.
“No, I’ll cook. Are you hungry? It’s a little early for lunch, but I need to eat. It helps beat the jet lag.”
“You cook?” he asked dubiously.
She arched a brow, pulling out the makings of a salad. She also pulled out some chicken to pan sear. “Yes, I can cook. Am I ruining all your fantasies about royalty?”
His green gaze met hers.
The word fantasies seemed to hang in the air between them, and she felt her skin flush.
Oh boy, how would she survive two weeks in close proximity with this man? Her insides were alive, like they were filled with butterflies. No, Sofia Helena Elizabeth Marguerite, no lusting after your bodyguard.
But he’d admitted that he was attracted to her, that he’d thought of her. Fantasized about her. She fought the urge to rub her thighs together.
“You don’t need to cook for me,” he said.
She shrugged and started fixing the salad.
“I was told you’d received some threatening notes,” Rome said.
Sofie pulled a face. “Unfortunately, yes. It goes with the territory.”
“Your Caldovan security team seemed concerned. I’d like to see the notes.”
“I’ll get palace security to send you copies.” She dumped lettuce and other fixings in a bowl. She searched the large pot drawers and found a pan. Next, she poured in some olive oil into the pan, and started frying the chicken.
She turned and found Rome staring at her hand holding the wooden spoon.
“There’s a note in my bag,” she said.
His face changed, turning a little scary. He strode to her bag and yanked it open.
“Hey, you can’t just dive into a woman’s handbag uninvited.”
He ignored her and pulled out the note.
He smoothed it out, read it, and unsurprisingly, scowled. His grumpy vibe filled the room, and she hid her smile. My goodness, he was a big, grumpy hunk of deliciousness. Why did she find that even more attractive?
He looked up at her. “This is more than just some threatening letters.”
She scooped the cooked chicken out onto a plate to cool. Next, she pulled out a small bowl, and cracked an egg in, followed by more oil. She started whisking up the makings of a salad dressing from scratch. She hated store-bought dressings.
Besides, cooking calmed her.
“Yes, I have a weird stalker.”
“Who wants to kill you.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You aren’t going to let that happen, are you, Rome?”
His full lips flattened. “I’m taking this.” He slipped the note into his pocket. “Your security back home get any prints off the notes?”
She shook her head. “They were unable to identify anything that narrowed down who the notes might come from.”
“I’ll see what my guys can do.”
She served up two bowls of salad and eyed Rome’s big frame. She put an extra serving of chicken on his. She pushed the bowl his way, then sat on a stool.
Rome eyed the salad like it was a live grenade.
“I promise I’m a decent cook. My mother taught me.”
He still looked skeptical, but sat. “Your mother’s a princess and she cooks, too?”
“She wasn’t born a princess. She’s Australian, and a commoner. You haven’t heard the grand love story?”
He shook his head.
“My father was on a tour of Australia and met my mother at a local pub. Their gazes met across the room, and the rest is history. My mother is an open, friendly, gorgeous woman, and she helped my very proper, slightly stuffy father unbend. They love each other.”
“And your mother gave up her life in Australia to move to Europe with your father?”
“Yes. She learned several languages, learned royal etiquette, and became beloved by the Caldovan people. She’s wonderful.” Sofie ate some more salad. “Oh, I have one other thing to tell you.”
Rome’s shoulders stiffened.
“No more stalkers, murderers, or thieves, I promise.” Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth, but she wasn’t going into that with him. “I have some visitors arriving after lunch.”
Rome leaned back. “I figured you’d rest after your flight.”
“And lie around like princesses do?” Her tone was sharp. “Maybe order some servants around, or get a massage?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Sofie sniffed. “I know. Sorry. I’m used to people making lots of assumptions about princesses.” She chewed her chicken and swallowed. “It’s a mother and daughter. My charity organized it. They won an afternoon tea with a princess. They’re domestic-violence survivors.” Sadness moved