10. Roni

Ten - Roni

In the past seven hours, Diego saved my life, got me out of D.C. safely, and had us well on our way off the grid. I swallowed at the thought of him and me being stuck together somewhere in the wilderness for months. That was a long time to spend with someone that I couldn't stand. Even worse, my attraction to him made me feel like a traitor to my past self.

It didn't matter if at one point in time he was my nemesis, the one person who had the power to get under my skin and make me feel irrational, possibly even out of control. I felt some of the younger me slipping back into place, and it felt weird—suffocating even. I'd like to think that I had better impulse control now, but sitting next to Diego had me questioning my self-evaluation. Being this close to him it felt like someone lit a match and the fire burned away all the oxygen in the room.

It was ironic that Diego was literally my lifeline. It didn't feel fair that a group of jerks wanted me dead or alive, and the one person who was supposed to keep me safe was the one who made me feel out of control. I wanted to scoff, scream, cry, and punch something all at the same time. How was I supposed to mentally cope with this situation, this arrangement?

It was even less fair that the man was fucking gorgeous. His quiet demeanor gave off man-of-mystery vibes that had me second-guessing the person I thought he was. One thing was for sure: I couldn't let my guard down. Diego Garcia was bad-news-bears for me. I had a plan for when my dad left office, and nowhere in it was room for Diego. I'd keep my walls up and a protective shell around my heart. He was my bodyguard now, but he'd been my nemesis and my bully, and I couldn't let myself forget that. I wasn't sure that any of that had really changed. He'd put on a good show around my parents and the White House staff—but who was he when no one else was looking?

I closed my eyes and tried to keep the idea of us trapped in a cozy cabin snuggled up in front of a fireplace out of my thoughts. Mental images like that were asking for trouble.

I slouched down in my seat and stretched my legs. Then it hit me. Aside from when I snuck out, this was the first time I'd been anywhere without the Secret Service in six years. The idea of ditching Diego and going out on my own came to mind. It couldn't be too hard to lose him—he had to sleep sometime. I glanced over at him and then immediately felt guilt for some unexplainable reason. While the complete freedom was tempting, I knew that trouble would find me. Whether it be a bear, the media, or a terrorist, something would ruin my freedom before it truly began. Then I might join Nina, and as much as I really missed her, I had no desire to join her yet.

Thoughts of what life could have been if my dad wasn't the president ran through my head and filled me with all types of turmoil. If I hadn't been the president's daughter, I might not have become Nina's friend. Even though her death caused a massive hole in my chest, I was glad I knew her. Her sunshine and rainbow personality had made my days more bearable. The dinners we spent rolling our eyes at speakers, the shopping trips in New York, and our impromptu trip to Washington State. Those days were my fondest memories from my dad's time in office. It was nice to look back at those happy memories while my world felt drowned in gray. Being the president's daughter was a mixed bag, one I was going to have to accept before the whole experience was over.

Before I knew it, Diego shook my shoulder. "We landed," he said gently. His hair was a little disheveled as if he had run his fingers through it a bunch. It was a good look for him. It took him from smart and sophisticated to a little bit of wild child. My type.

I stared at the back of his head as he grabbed our bags from overhead, and we exited the plane, then the airport. It was as if I woke up to a completely different life. The red-eye did a lot more than transport me to another state; it felt like it took me to a different dimension. No one else had recognized me yet. Had it really been this easy to disappear into the night? If I'd known all it took was a box of hair dye and an oversized jacket, I would have disappeared a long time ago.

Our ride in the rental car to the coast was quiet, and in the silence I thought more about Nina. I had to blink back tears so that Diego wouldn't see my cry. He'd seen it at Nina's funeral, but that was different. I was not weak, and I hadn't been for a long time. I wasn't going to start now. Diego had already seen enough of my weakness. I wasn't some delicate little flower that needed to be protected. I was strong and tough and could take care of myself. He was just the hired gun.

When we got to the marina and I laid eyes on the dock, another knot of unease formed in my gut. Our ride was a rickety old boat that probably needed to go to the landfill ten years ago. The paint was peeling, some wood looked rotten, and the captain hobbled across the dock with a round belly and a limp.

This thing was supposed to make the trip all the way to Alaska? We'd be lucky to make it to Oregon.

"I know it doesn't look like much, but he was cheap, and he won't ask questions," Diego whispered to me. I rolled my eyes. I'd rather come up with a lie or two than spend an extended period of time on a vessel that looked less reliable than a life raft.

"Welcome," the captain greeted us. He ushered us into the boat with a misshapen smile. He moved around the boat in a hurry despite his limp. He alternated between muttering to himself and calling out to us to explain what he was doing. Within an hour, we were on the open seas, following the coastline north.

The wind whipped around my face as I struggled to keep my stomach contents where they belonged. I'd never been on a ship before, and my body was struggling. I looked at my hands just to make sure the skin wasn't as green as I felt. At least I didn't turn into a female hulk. Green was not my color.

"Are you okay?" Diego asked as he approached the edge I was leaning over. I spared a glance in his direction and saw an amused smirk on his lips.

"No." My response sounded more like a groan than an actual word. I was afraid that if I talked too much I'd end up vomiting and making a fool of myself. I wanted that as much as I wanted him to see me cry again…

"Don't lie. You're seasick." He paused before adding his own lie. "Happens to everyone." His hand gently rubbed my back for a quick second before my spine jerked straight and he quickly pulled his hand away. The touch sent a shockwave of confusion through me that had me wrenching my guts out.

The gentle soothing touch wasn't forced; there was no one taking pictures. My dad wasn't here to supervise his hair-brained scheme. Yet Diego was genuinely trying to comfort me—the exact opposite of what a younger version of him would have done. It felt as jarring as the waves did on my stomach.

I needed a subject change, and for some reason I had the urge to throw him off his game just as much as he'd thrown me. I needed us on equal footing, because he had way too much of the high ground. He was my bodyguard, not my nanny.

"How much is my dad paying you for this?" I was also interested to know what my safety was worth to the man prior to the events of last night.

"To keep you safe? A hundred grand every six months my services are needed," he said.

I was a little blown away by the number; it was more than I had expected. What did that say about how I viewed my dad? Maybe he wasn't the shittiest of dads, and maybe I wasn't the best of daughters.

"Wow," I commented. The salty air assaulted my face as a gust of wind picked up. I barely heard the captain's curses as they carried down to us.

Diego simply stared out at the open ocean as if he'd longed to be there. Had he spent a lot of time on a ship as part of his service?

There were so many questions I had about my new bodyguard and fake boyfriend. I shouldn't be invested enough to care—yet I did.

I got another violent urge to release everything in my stomach, and there was no fighting it. It burned my throat before I let the ocean sweep away the evidence.

"When we eventually leave this place, we are not going by boat again," I moaned.

Diego grabbed my hair and pulled it out of my face as another round of vomiting took over.

"Deal," he said, after I finished heaving my guts out. I wasn't sure there was anything left as he said, "Let's get you inside the cabin. You might feel better if you aren't looking at the ocean."

"I'll try anything," I answered. Well, almost anything.

We went down to the cabin, and I looked around. The captain brought our stuff down earlier, so it was the first time I laid eyes on the room. It was nothing to be impressed by. It was small, the furniture was old and rickety, and it smelled like saltwater and moth balls.

Our bags were in the corner, on the dirty floor. I knew I was about to go to Alaska and live out in the bush, but it would have been nice to keep our stuff clean for a full twenty-four hours first. I had a whole complex about keeping nice stuff…nice.

"The boat only has two cabins, the captain's and this one…" Diego trailed off.

We'd be sharing this room. Great. I knew we were likely in for the same experience when we got to Alaska, but it was one thing to be sleeping outside or to have tents right next door. Sharing a warm and cozy bed was a different experience. It's almost like they came equipped with an imaginary flashing neon signs that read, "Fuck me." Sharing a bed with Diego was taking the expression sleeping with the enemy one step too literal for my liking. It would be one thing if I weren't attracted to him, if I could shut those quick moments of appreciation off—but I couldn't. So sharing a bed with my sexy enemy was just too much for me to comfortably handle.

I gave the old bed the stink-eye while I kicked off my boots and peeled out of my jacket. It had been a little chilly on the boat deck, but down here we were out of the wind and thankfully warm. I stacked the books I'd concealed on the nightstand.

My hoodie stayed on, and I didn't even bother kicking out of my jeans. I wanted more fabric between me and the mattress that was likely older than I was. Could bed bugs survive on a boat? I was sure they probably could.

"Where exactly in Alaska are we going?" I asked Diego as I hesitantly sat down on the bed. I tried to make myself comfortable and realized just how miserable this trip was going to be. The mattress was as hard as a rock; I might as well just sleep on the floor.

He lowered his voice to a whisper so low I could barely hear him. "I've requested we be boated up to Anchorage. From there, we will be going east. I found an old remote cabin for sale. It was cheap, so I bit the bullet. It's better than a tent anyways."

"Isn't Anchorage and the surrounding towns a relatively populated area? I thought the goal was to go for something remote?" I whispered back.

"It is, but we'll be going pretty far east. Close enough to the city that we can get there in case of an emergency, but remote enough that we should be pretty far out of view." He paused as he considered his next words. "You have no homesteading experience. You can't build a house, and I'm assuming you've never gardened or hunted. We will need supplies, and with winter coming, it's going to make it that much harder to survive off the land. I can't throw up a log cabin in a couple of days, so I had to find something quick." His whisper almost sounded condescending.

He was right; I didn't have those skill sets. I was raised in the city, and my idea of camping had been in a very large and expensive RV. The only thing I knew about surviving in the wilderness was what I'd seen on TV and read in books. But knowing how to do something in theory and accomplishing it in practice were two totally separate ideals. I resented that he thought I would be useless out here. I'd prove him wrong, if for nothing else than to piss him off. I would not allow him to be my only lifeline to survival, from Geneva, the wilderness, and starvation. I'd figure out how to navigate life in remote Alaska—I just had to.

Diego watched me closely, as if he was waiting for me to get upset at him for pointing out a flaw. Instead, I threw him through a loop, because I wasn't going to be unreasonable over the truth. I was just going to prove him wrong when the time came. It'd be like we were dropped back in high school all over again.

"You're right, I don't have those skills, but I'm pretty fucking smart, and I'm a quick learner. I've read a few survivalist books and seen some wilderness reality TV shows. I'll practice what I've learned, and if you teach me everything else, I'll carry my own weight," I told him. I wasn't worthless, and I'll be damned if I let him think I was.

His eyebrow shifted high with surprise, but he quickly tamed it. "Good, because I'll need the help." He turned his head away and looked out the porthole.

The sun was setting over the ocean, and night was creeping in. The dirty porthole windows were caked with dry salt that made it hard to see out, but at least we'd be able to see natural light. I didn't want to be on the upper deck at night; the idea creeped me out. Not to mention, since coming down into the cabin, my stomach had settled some.

I grabbed my bag and went to the bathroom attached to our cabin to brush my teeth and wash my face before bed. When I exited the bathroom, I was hit with the sight of Diego pulling off his shirt.

Hot fucking damn, his abs have ridges!

It was as if I were in a slow motion scene in some teen movie. His jeans hung low on his hips, and the outline of a V trailing toward his pelvis drew my attention like a moth to a flame. His tanned skin looked smooth, and there wasn't a trace of hair on his chest, although he did have a happy trail that drew my eyes downward.

I hadn't realized it, but Diego had finished taking off his shirt, and he spotted me in the doorway. It took an awkward clearing of his throat for me to realize that he was watching me watch him.

I blinked a few times to pull myself out of a tiny moment of lust and self-hatred. The fact that he caught me staring was mortifying. He'd be the full package if he weren't the same guy who spent years competing with me to be the best, doing whatever it took to beat me.He was attractive, ripped, brave, and considered a hero by most—even my father saw him as one. I was the opposite—currently useless for our situation, average looking, and the only thing special about me was my dad's job.

I cleared my own throat. "Uh, sorry." I felt my face flush red.

"Don't be," he said with a shy smile. Was he blushing, too?

"It's just been a while since I've been in a position like this," I explained. Word vomit. Fuck.

I wasn't sure why I even opened my mouth. I should have played it off as something confident and deliberate. Instead, I rambled and let him know just how uncomfortable I was. Even worse—I hinted that it had been a long time since I'd been in an intimate setting with a man. It was hard to get any kind of privacy with the Secret Service. It only happened when I snuck out, and even then I was very selective with who I met up with. While I didn't want to be the president's daughter, I didn't want to blow up my father's career with a nuclear bomb.

His chocolate eyes sparked with curiosity, and my heart kicked into overdrive. "What position?"

I hesitated for a second. Did I really want to admit something so embarrassing? "You know, closed in with a man."My face felt hot with the admission.

His eyebrows narrowed in confusion, and he shifted his arms. His chest was left bare to me, and with his shoulders wide, it was as if he left himself open for me. "What does that have to do anything?"

What did that have to do with anything? It had everything to do with why I spent too much time on our drive and flight imagining us holed up in the woods together. He was sexy as sin, hired to keep me safe. I was the president's daughter ready to cut loose and let my wild side out. Add in the fact that we had history that seemed to lace its way into the present—this was a recipe for disaster.

I floundered for a second. "I just mean…you are supposed to be professional. Sharing a bed with the woman you have to protect…one you share an interesting past with…it might make things uncomfortable."

Amusement sparked in his eyes, and he rolled his neck and shoulders, as if he were loosening tight muscles. "Ah, I get it." He paused as if to keep me in suspense. Did he really? "Your choice of words were very careful, weren't they?" His lips turned up at the corner, and I wanted to bury my head under one of the dirty pillows. He was enjoying this.

Instead of subjecting myself to a skin infection, I played along. "What do you mean?"

"You said I had to keep things professional, but you never mentioned what you wanted," he said. His chocolate eyes lost all sense of humor and only intensity remained. It felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. He was onto me; he knew the thoughts I had in the back of my head.

Red-hot embarrassment spiked through me.

He took a step closer to me. "Do you want things to be professional?" I couldn't decide which to stare at, his gaze or his chest.

It was as if I seized up. I lost my ability to function as I stood stock still. He took another calculated step toward me. "I don't know what I want," I blurted. There was a long pause filled with nothing but his intense gaze. "People have always made my decisions for me," I added to try to save myself—but it was a cop out. If I admitted that I was attracted to him, I'd lose a portion of that wall I needed to keep between us.

"Well, that changes now. You've got to think for yourself to stay alive. We're going to practice that right now." His tone almost turned predatory and his gaze hungry. I felt confused by the sudden change, but that only lasted for a moment before need kicked in. Diego Garcia was a cool drink of water I thirsted for, no matter how stubborn I was—no matter how toxic the water was.

He was still shirtless, and if I wasn't mistaken his pants shifted lower down his hips. He still stood two feet from me, staring as I stared back. The sexual tension could be cut with a knife. It felt like an electric current running over my skin, touching me in all the right places. I could only imagine what his actual touch would feel like. If he was as much of a perfectionist in bed as he was in school, his previous conquests were all lucky women.

A streak of jealousy boiled hot beneath my skin before I quickly let it go. I was way too in over my head to try to dissect the meaning behind it. Instead, I focused on the moment. "And how do I practice that?" My words were breathy; I sounded sexy for the first time.

Suddenly my stomach was in knots, not from the motion of the waves, but from the idea of making a move on Diego. Since when did I decide I was going to do that?

"You make quick decisions. Here's your first one," he said, and then he moved closer, bridging the gap between us. We stood chest to chest, and I hoped he didn't feel my erratic breathing or racing heart. I could certainly feel his.

His cinnamon smell filled my nose and clouded my judgment. "I'm going to kiss you," he said as his hand reached up to grab my face softly. "You'll either push me away, or you'll kiss me back."

The knot in my stomach tripled in size. This was not how I imagined he'd test me. I was moments away from do-or-die time, and I had no idea what I'd do. Would I keep things professional? That was what my dad would have wanted. Or would I muddy the waters and kiss him back? I wasn't sure what part of me wanted it—probably my traitorous lady bits—but bone deep, I recognized that I wanted it.

What a hell of a first decision to make.

His face neared mine, his lips only a breath away. He was slow, giving me time to figure out what I wanted. Despite the fact that he told me I needed to make quick decisions, he didn't force this on me. I had a lot more time than a girl would normally get, a double-edged sword. It was that much longer I had to agonize over the choice.

Suddenly I was out of time, and I didn't freak out. His lips hesitantly touched mine, and I didn't fight the touch. Instead, at the contact, the knot in my stomach loosened, and I felt at peace with the decision or lack of decision. As if he could sense my thoughts, Diego deepened our kiss.

He tasted like coffee, and when his arms wrapped around me to pull me closer, I felt like I couldn't get enough. His taste, his smell—it was like walking into a heavenly coffee shop. His tongue ran across my bottom lip, seeking entrance, and I allowed it. Our tongues tangled together, and his hands tangled in my hair. My hands found his smooth and hard chest, and I fought the urge to purr like a fucking cat. A kitten. I'd never once thought of myself as an animal, and suddenly I wanted to sink my claws into him and purr.

I slowly traced my fingers down the smooth skin, and he groaned into my mouth. His movements sped up as pure need began to take over. Our bodies were flush, and I could feel just how much he wanted me. By the size of the bulge pressed against my pelvis, I'd say he wanted me a whole hell of a lot, and the realization would have taken my breath away. The problem was I already didn't have any left. His kiss left me starving for air, and I didn't want it to end. I wanted to push him down on the bed and sink into him. It was as if there were some chemical reaction between us that stole my ability to reason with myself. Could this have been what fueled our competitive streak? Why I'd spent so much time plotting how to be better than him—because I wanted him?

There was a sudden knock at the door, which had me jumping out of my skin. Diego's fingers remained in my hair, so I couldn't go very far.

"Dinner's ready," the captain said through the thin wood door.

"We'll be right up," Diego said with a chuckle. His eyes were still locked on mine, and they gave me a window into his thoughts; they were positively filthy.

I groaned.

Cock blocking captain…