Читать книгу Ransom for a Prince - Lisa Childs, Lisa Childs, Livia Reasoner - Страница 10

While her heart pounded furiously with the fear coursing through her, Jessica steadied her hands on the shotgun, so that he couldn’t pull the weapon from her grasp. But he didn’t reach for it. Instead he propped his fists on his lean hips and stared her down just as he had the pushy reporters during the press conference.

She resisted the urge to squirm beneath that stare. She refused to be intimidated. Again. By his manner—or his looks.

Why did he have to be so damn handsome? That golden brown hair, those deep blue eyes and his long, lean body clad in a dark suit—all conspired to addle a woman’s brains. Jessica would not be addled, either.

Summoning her pride and whatever strength she possessed, she lifted her chin and met his stare of intimidation head-on. Those damn mesmerizing eyes of his narrowed as he scrutinized her face as if he could see right inside her mind. Or her heart. Or her soul.

“Put down the gun,” he ordered as if she were one of his subjects or servants. Then he lowered his voice and softly added, “Before you hurt yourself.”

Was he for real?

She’d expected him to be furious with her for driving off as she had, with him nearly being dragged along with her vehicle. When he’d spouted that nonsense about her not being in any danger before she’d opened the door, she’d figured he had to be lying. Men always lied to her. Even though he was a prince, he was a man first.

“I’m not the one who’s going to get hurt if you don’t leave me alone,” she warned him, shoving the barrel closer to his chest.

His gaze dropped from hers to the gun, then rose back up to her face. But he still didn’t move. Despite her holding a weapon on him, he betrayed no fear.

Jealousy flashed through her—along with wistful admiration. Even after the explosion and attempts on the lives of the other royals, he felt no fear. Jessica couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been afraid. But maybe it was good that she had enough sense to get scared; it had probably kept her alive for the past five years.

“I wasn’t wrong,” he murmured, as if talking only to himself. Then he raised his voice and added, “You’re not going to shoot me.”

His arrogance and condescension grated on her already frayed nerves.

“I will if you don’t leave. You’re trespassing,” she informed him. “Get off this property.”

He remained standing stubbornly right in front of her—as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I am not leaving until you tell me what you saw that night.”

She pressed the barrel against the lapel on the left side of his dark suit jacket, and finally, he stepped back. She followed him onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind herself. When the Hummer had come down the driveway, Helen had joined Samantha in her room to make sure the little girl stayed upstairs and at the back of the house. But Jessica didn’t want his voice—or hers—to drift up within the child’s hearing.

Even though she’d only had one hand on the old shotgun when she’d shut the door, he hadn’t tried to pull it from her. So she observed, “You’re smart enough to know to not grab for the gun.”

He lifted his chin, as if offended. “I know how dangerous guns can be.”

Of course. According to Danny Harold, Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh had been a military sniper. “Then you should also be smart enough to leave. You’re wasting your time anyway. I have nothing to tell you.”

He flinched, as if worried that by nothing she meant that his friend was dead. And once again that anguish and frustration passed through his deep blue eyes. But she suspected his frustration wasn’t just over not knowing where his friend was but with her for not telling him what he wanted to know.

Because she’d expected him to be angry with her, she’d greeted him with the shotgun. No man would ever hurt her again. But she didn’t want to hurt him, either. She didn’t lower the gun, however. With Samantha in the house, she could not let the man any closer.

He was already too close. His nearness had her skin heating and tingling and her pulse racing with awareness. She could not be attracted to him.

She couldn’t…

But she could tell him about that night. She could ease his worry. If she could trust him…

“I know that you’re frightened,” he said, his deep voice low and soft. “But you have nothing to fear from me. I will protect you from harm. The people who caused the explosion will not get to you.”

She couldn’t trust him. She had learned long ago that men who made promises that were impossible to keep were not to be trusted.

SEBASTIAN HAD LOST HER. Even though she stood right there in front of him, she was gone. For a moment she had appeared about to confide in him. Her gaze had warmed and she’d relaxed her grip on the gun.

But now she clutched the shotgun tightly, the stock braced against her slender shoulder as if she were preparing to fire on him. And the brief warming of her brown eyes had cooled.

Disappointment clenched the muscles in his stomach and not just because she wouldn’t tell him about the explosion. He was disappointed that her warmth was gone, and that she was all tense and scared again. He hated that she was so afraid and not just for her sake. Her fear brought him back to a dark place he’d never wanted to go again.

“Let me help you,” he urged.

When she had first greeted him with the gun, he’d thought for a moment that she might intend to shoot him and collect the money that someone had put on his head along with the other royals. But that moment had been fleeting. He’d had only to look into her eyes to know that she was no killer. He didn’t want her to become a victim, either.

“You don’t want to help me,” she replied. “You want me to help you.” She shook her head. “And I can’t…”

“You could,” he said, “if you’d let yourself trust me.”

The color drained from her face, leaving her too pale and fragile looking. “I can’t…”

“My nation—Barajas—trusts me and my brother to rule them and to protect them.”