“Cut it out!” Fiona whined as he urged her toward the security checkpoint. “I can’t go through there yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I have to smoke my… cigarette.” She gave him an arch wink.
Harris’s heart sank. She didn’t mean cigarette. She meant weed. Surely nobody would be so stupid as to bring marijuana to an airport. Surely…
“Let’s go outside,” she said gaily, pulling him the precise opposite way to the direction he wanted to go, his hand still gripping her arm. Harris allowed himself to be dragged only because outside was a good idea if she had illicit substances on her person.
In the bracing air of a New York afternoon, he pulled Fiona close and did what he should have done two weeks earlier. He took charge.
“Toss anything you have in the garbage,” he ordered. “Do it quick.”
“I’m not going to toss it,” she laughed. “I’m going to smoke it.”
“You are not going to smoke a joint in front of an airport,” he hissed in her ear. “See those men with guns? They’ll arrest you. Now throw it out, we have to get through security.”
“Ugh,” Fiona grunted. “You’re such a downer.”
Harris’s hand was in motion before he even realized it. He didn’t know he was going to smack her bottom until his hand was actually in contact with the round of her cheek, conforming to the tightly covered posterior. It was no gentle tap either, it was a hard, whacking slap that echoed up and down the pavement. It was the very least Fiona deserved, but it was a good start.
Fiona gasped and whirled about, her eyes filling with shocked tears. “You hit me!”
His heart was pounding, but he nodded curtly. “I did.”
“But…” she rubbed her bottom and opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words really came out. She looked as though she wanted to ask a question, but what could she possibly ask? ‘Why?’ was a foregone conclusion. He’d smacked her because she was refusing to ditch the weed. How he’d dared lay a hand on her? That was a better question. Harris had an answer for that too. He was at the end of his tether with the spoiled little madam. If she wanted to fire him for real, he was more than happy to accept that.
“Listen, Fiona,” he said grimly. “You’re used to people sucking up to you at every turn. I get that. But that’s not me, and it’s not how I work. So you can fire me if you like. You might make it to Milan, though I doubt you’ll get anywhere near the plane. Alternatively, you can keep me on and you can start listening and doing as you’re told, understand, young lady?”
Fiona stared at him wide-eyed while he lectured her, giving him the blank look of a woman who has never before come up against someone she couldn’t boss around.
Harris glanced at his watch. “You have two minutes to make this decision. If you want me to keep providing my services, you’ll dump the weed and adjust your attitude.”
Fiona stared on, apparently frozen. Had he broken her mind somehow? Was it really so inconceivable to her that someone might lay down the law for once?
“Sixty seconds,” he said. “What’s it going to be?”
When runaway heiress Fiona Fayrefield hires bodyguard Harris Kingsley to protect her from her meddlesome father, Harris decides that his job includes putting the spoiled twenty-four-year-old brat over his knee for a long, hard spanking when he feels it necessary. For the first time in her life, Fiona discovers that doing whatever she wants, whenever she wants, is no longer an option.
After her father sends ex-military bounty hunter Tom Waters to bring her home, events take an unexpected turn and the two men soon join forces to protect Fiona, to tame her rebellious ways, and to bring her more pleasure than she ever imagined possible. But when they learn that she has more skeletons in her closet than they were counting on, will her fortune come between Fiona and the loves of her life?