Ravished: An Erotic Collection Of Sin

POV: Isla

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Dad.”  

I slammed the door of his study so hard the windows shook loudly. My heart was already pounding, half from rage, half from the adrenaline that always kicked in when I fought with Enzo Moretti. 

My father  

“Language, Isla.”  

He didn’t even look up from the papers on his desk. Just kept signing them like I was some annoying fly buzzing around his head. 

“Language?” I laughed without humour. 

“Isla, sit down and listen to me for once.” He finally looked at me, dropped the pen, and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than they were last week. 

“Three nights ago, you almost died!”

I remained standing, my hands curling into a fist at my sides. 

“So what? Mom died last year; people die, in fact, everyone dies one day. I’m twenty-one, Dad. I'm an adult, so if I want to die, leave me the hell alone!”

He narrowed his eyes at me, cold, dark, the same eyes I saw in the mirror whenever I was too stubborn to back down. 

“You are the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the state. That makes you a target. And since you insist on sneaking out to clubs and acting like you're invisible, I’m taking the choice out of your hands."

​"I have a life! I have friends!"

​"You have a death wish," he countered, his eyes hard. "You’re staying in this house. And when you do leave, you won’t be alone."

​I let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really, or what? Are you going to send Uncle Marco to follow me to the mall? He’s sixty and breathes like a broken vacuum cleaner. I’ll lose him in five minutes."

​"Marco is staying with me," my father replied, leaning back. "I’ve hired someone else. Someone who doesn't care about your tantrums. Someone who won't be charmed by your innocent smiles or bought off by your credit cards."

​I crossed my arms over my chest, my silk robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. 

"I’ll make his life a living hell. Just watch me. I’ll make sure he quits within forty-eight hours. You know I can do it."

​"He’s already been paid for the month, Isla. Non-refundable."

​"Then you wasted your money. I don't need a babysitter in a fucking suit."

​"He doesn't wear a suit," my father remarked, a smirk touching his lips. "And he has spent the last five years in places far more dangerous than you could ever think, little girl. He was in the Special Forces. He doesn't take orders from you; he takes them from me. And my order is to keep you breathing, whether you like it or not.”

​I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt and scoffed loudly. “Special Forces? Wow. So he’s a bonehead with a military buzzcut who probably jerks off to his own medals at night. Really fucking great, Dad.”

I knew I was being difficult, but I was never going to let some stupid shit head act as my babysitter.

“I don't know why you have to be so vulgar and sarcastic, Isla. Anyway, his name is Oliver Kane. He is thirty years old and the best in the business.” He pressed a button on his desk phone. “Send him in.”  

The door opened behind me. Heavy steps crossed the floor and stopped a few feet away. 

“Mr. Moretti,” a deep, clipped voice said. Calm. Controlled. The kind of voice that didn’t need to shout to command a room.  

I turned.  

Holy. Fuck.  

I take it back, he was definitely not a bonehead; he was a masterpiece.

Oliver Kane filled the doorway like he owned it. He was tall, easily six-three, with broad shoulders stretching the maroon-coloured shirt he wore. The top button opened just enough to show a hint of a snake tattoo at the base of his throat. 

His jaw was sharp, shadowed with a day’s worth of stubble. Sandy-blonde hair cut military-short. And those eyes… icy blue locked on my father like I wasn’t even in the room.  

But I was in the room, and every inch of my body noticed. Heat pooled low in my belly, fast and unexpected. My thighs pressed together under the silk robe before I could stop myself. 

He was built like a weapon; arms corded with muscle, chest wide, waist narrow. The kind of man who could snap a neck or pin a girl against a wall without breaking a sweat.  

I hated how much I wanted to test that theory.  

“Oliver,” my father said, waving him closer. “This is my daughter, Isla. She’s… spirited. You’ll be her bodyguard starting now, twenty-four-seven. If she goes out, you go out with her. If she wants to sleep, you check the room first. Shower, you wait outside the door. The contract is clear, no personal involvement. Understood?”  

Oliver’s gaze finally slid to me. Those blue eyes moved over my face, down my robe, then back up. Not lingering or leering. Just… assessing. Like I was a threat to secure, not a woman.  

It pissed me off, and turned me on at the same time. 

“Understood, sir,” he said. Flat. Professional. Not a single crack in his voice.  

Dammit mehn! I needed to get laid. It's been too long for me to react like this to a man I just met. 

I smirked, stepping closer. Close enough that I could smell him; clean soap, something dark and woody, and that raw male heat that made my body react whether I wanted it to or not.

“So you’re my new leash, huh? Oliver.” I let his name roll off my tongue like I was tasting it, a wicked smile curving my lips as I looked him up and down. “Do you come with a manual? Because I’ve got big plans for you tonight.”

His jaw flexed. Barely noticeable, but I caught it.  

“Miss Moretti,” he answered, voice still flat, “my job is your safety, not your entertainment. If you want to go out? We’ll go. But my rules. My way.”  

God, that dominant edge underneath the professional tone made my nipples tighten under my robe.

I wanted to push harder, to see if I could make that control slip. Because if I could make him crack, say the wrong thing, let him touch me even by accident, Dad would fire his ass on the spot. 

I tilted my head, letting my robe slip another inch off my shoulder. “And if I don’t like your rules?”  

“You’ll learn to.” His eyes held mine. No heat. No reaction. “Or we’ll have a problem.”  

My father chuckled, obviously satisfied with his response, as he reached for his phone on the table. “See? He’s perfect. I have a call to take. Oliver, secure her suite. Make sure it’s clean. Then she can get ready for whatever trouble she’s planning tonight.” 

He waved us off with a flick of his hand, like we were hired help he’d grown tired of. “Keep her close, Kane. She is slippery.”

The door closed behind him.  

For the first time, it was just us.  

Oliver didn’t move. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for me to lead the way.

I could see a faint scar on the side of his face that made him look more dangerous. 

My pulse kicked up. He was far too hot to be a bodyguard.

This man was going to be in my space, my fucking life, for who knew how long. And instead of being pissed off, all I could think about was how those large, veined hands would feel sliding under my clothes if he ever decided to break the rules. How that clipped, commanding voice would sound when he growled my name while pinned against the wall.

I turned on my heel, robe swishing around my thighs, and started toward the stairs. “Well, come on then, soldier. Let’s see how good you are at following.”  

He fell into step right behind me. I could feel the heat of him at my back as we climbed the wide staircase. 

My skin tingled with awareness of how close he was.

At the top, I paused outside my bedroom door, hand on the knob, looking back over my shoulder, letting my eyes drag down his body. 

“Are you really gonna stand outside my shower, Oliver? Listen to the water running while I’m naked on the other side of that door?”  

His voice came out low. Strained. “I’m just doing my job, Miss Moretti.”  

I pushed my bedroom door open and stepped inside, heart racing. He followed me in to sweep the entire room, his movements quick. He stopped by the bed, eyes scanning every tiny corner of the room. For a split second, his gaze moved down to where I had intentionally opened my robe enough to show the lace edge of my pink panties and bra.

And for the first time, I saw it.  

A flicker.  

Not much. Just the slightest clench of his jaw, his muscle jumping under the skin.

My lips curved upwards into a wide, wicked smile.  

Game on, Oliver Kane.  

I was going to break you.  

And God knows, I was going to enjoy every filthy second doing it.