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“And who are you exactly?”
Yeah, sheshouldknow who I am, but it seems she hasn’t paid attention. Of course, my job is to be in the background, noticed only if needed.
“Prince Torin’s head of security,” I say. “Jonah Greene. This room is the closest to the prince’s, so it’s where I’ll be staying. The guest room is now the next one down the hall. On the left.”
Torin has been living in Cara without me for a year. It makes sense that this room was given to guests. It’s the biggest and nicest unoccupied room. But, since I’m now a permanent resident, and itisthe closest to his, it’s mine as of two weeks ago.
“I’d offer my hand, but I’d have to move from behind this ironing board and get closer,” I tell her. “And I wasn’t expecting to…entertain in my room just now.”
Linnea Olsen isn’t a princess or queen…yet…but when King Diarmuid made her grandfather a duke and gave him land and responsibilities in Cara, his entire immediate family was bestowed titles. So she is a duchess, and I really should at least shake her hand.
Her gaze drops again to the board and what’s behind it, and now, finally, her cheeks get a little pink.
“That’s not necessary,” she says.
I donotsmirk, but fuck, I want to. If this wereanyother woman at all, I would.
She’s staring at me as if she’s never seen a naked man before.
And honestly, that’s possible.
And I really want to know if I’m the first and only.
And Ireallyshouldn’t wonder about that.
“Do you need help finding the guest room?” I ask when she doesn’t move.
Until she moves, I really can’t.
“The room you say is next door?” she asks. “I think I can find my way.”
Is that a little bit of sass I detect?
It’s very possible. Torin has told me stories. It sounds like Linnea is as pleasing as sunshine and sweet tea on my grandmother’s front porch in July in front of…well, everyone. But behind closed doors, with the man her grandfather arranged for her to marry, she’s sassy and even downright snotty. According to the man whose grandfather arranged forhimto marryher, anyway.
Yes, I take what Torin tells me with a grain of salt. But I do believe that Linnea is less than sweet and subservient to him.
“Are you waiting for an escort then?”
“Are you offering? You're not exactly dressed for it. Or for anything.”
I could think of a couple of things I’m “dressed” for.
“Just had to ask since you got lost finding the guest room this time,” I point out.
“I told the staff I didn’t need help. I suppose they assumed I knew there had been a location change.”
I know that Linnea has been to the palace several times. Even before Torin had moved back, she was a fixture at the king’s side. This bedroom is probably more hers than a ‘guest room.’ I should probably feel bad about taking it from her. But I don’t. I need to be close to Torin. And I’m living here twenty-four-seven now while she hasn’t moved in permanently.
Yet.
“I suppose so. Making assumptions can be dangerous.”
It can be. I need to constantly remind those under my protection to think of their safety. God knows Torin is more likely to leap before looking and depend on me to get him out of whatever trouble that causes. But I know from all of my research that Linnea Olsen isnotspontaneous or flighty or rash.
She narrows her eyes slightly. “It was a simple mistake.”
I realize that as my friend’s sort-of-fiancée and my possible future employer, I should tread lightly. Hell, I should probably tread lightly just because I'm a nice guy, and she's a lady. But she can't get rid of me. That is fully under Torin’s purview. Well, okay, technically, until Torin wears the crown as king of Cara, King Diarmuid can overrule him. I could definitely be fired. Or banished from the island. And Lady Linnea is one of the king’s favorite people. He absolutely likes her more than he does even his own grandson.