Seducing My Guardian (A Touch of Taboo) Read online

  Seducing My Guardian

  A Touch of Taboo Novel

  Katee Robert

  Trinkets and Tales LLC

  Copyright © 2021 by Katee Robert

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Katee Robert

  Print ISBN: 978-1-951329-31-0

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also by Katee Robert

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  Also by Katee Robert

  A Touch of Taboo

  Your Dad Will Do

  Gifting Me To His Best Friend

  My Dad’s Best Friend

  Seducing My Guardian

  Bloodline Vampires

  Sacrifice

  Heir

  Queen

  Sabine Valley

  Abel

  Broderick

  Cohen

  Wicked Villains

  Desperate Measures

  Learn My Lesson

  A Worthy Opponent

  The Beast

  The Sea Witch

  Queen Takes Rose

  Twisted Hearts

  Theirs for the Night

  Forever Theirs

  Theirs Ever After

  His Forbidden Desire

  Her Rival’s Touch

  His Tormented Heart

  Her Vengeful Embrace

  The Kings Series

  The Last King

  The Fearless King

  The Hidden Sins Series

  The Devil’s Daughter

  The Hunting Grounds

  The Surviving Girls

  The Make Me Series

  Make Me Want

  Make Me Crave

  Make Me Yours

  Make Me Need

  The O’Malley Series

  The Marriage Contract

  The Wedding Pact

  An Indecent Proposal

  Forbidden Promises

  Undercover Attraction

  The Bastard’s Bargain

  The Hot in Hollywood Series

  Ties that Bind

  Animal Attraction

  Come Undone Series

  Wrong Bed, Right Guy

  Chasing Mrs. Right

  Two Wrongs, One Right

  Chapter 1

  I used to be a good girl. The apple of my parents’ eyes, their precious daughter who could do no wrong and only wanted to make them happy. The overachiever who got good grades, always did extra credit, and never stayed out past curfew.

  Why would I cause trouble? I had the perfect life, after all. The perfect house on its quiet private street with it’s perfect climbing tree in the front yard and acres to explore and play in. The perfect parents who were strict but loving and never, ever fought. The perfect circle of private school friends since kindergarten. Even the perfect boyfriend, kind and sweet and always respectful.

  Everything changed on my sixteenth birthday.

  A rainy night. A too-sharp turn. Glaring headlights in the windshield.

  Sometimes I feel like I woke up in another world after the car crash that killed my parents. One where up is down and down is up. A life where I have no living parents, no house, no friends. Where I have nothing.

  Except Devan.

  He showed up a few days after the crash. I’m still not sure why my parents chose him as my guardian, an old army buddy of my father’s, one who was a stranger to me. Maybe they never expected anything to happen to them. People rarely do.

  I was so numb during that time, I don’t remember much. Just that Devan mostly ignored me in favor of dealing with the endless details of my parents’ funerals and wakes and, god, I don’t even know. And that he was handsome enough to launch a thousand fantasies. Even grief-stricken and wrapped in a cold that still plagues me to this day, I noticed that.

  The day after my parents’ funerals, Devan bundled me up, shipped me off to boarding school, and has proceeded to ignore me for the past nine years.

  Except when I get into trouble.

  It was three years after that horrible birthday when I first figured out how to get his attention. A friend had the brilliant idea to hop on a plane to Mallorca to party for a long weekend. To get me out of my head and chase away the ghosts surrounding the day of my birth. I was nineteen, after all, and needed to have some fun. Fun. The entire concept was laughable then, and it’s laughable now.

  Fun is for people with parents. Fun is for people who don’t have gaping holes in their chest where love used to reside.

  I had nothing better to do, so I endeavored to have fun. Too much fun. Too much alcohol. Too much sun. Too many handsome Spanish men with too friendly hands.

  At least I was feeling something.

  I was doing body shots in a string bikini when Devan appeared like some kind of reaper, hauled away the guy licking his way up my stomach. He took off his button-down shirt, wrestled my belligerent drunk ass into it, and took me back to college.

  At that point, I’d convinced myself that he couldn’t possibly be that handsome, that it was all a fiction my traumatized sixteen-year-old brain had created in the midst of the worst trauma of my life. Silly me. Of course he was that handsome, of course he was even colder than I remembered.

  So I did it again for my twentieth birthday. A frat costume party, because of course. I was dressed in the sluttiest schoolgirl costume I could find, a request from my boyfriend at the time. Devan scared the guy so bad he almost pissed himself, and shuttled me home safely. Again.

  It became a tradition. I stopped asking him why he showed up. His sudden presence on a single night of the year became a compass of sorts for me. No matter what else was going wrong in my life, at least Devan cared enough to show up and make sure I don’t drink myself to death on the one night of the year when I can’t stand being in my own skin.

  The rest of the time?

  I’m just a spoiled little rich girl. Too much money. Too many friends who aren’t really friends at all. Too many boys who want my body, but flit away the second they realize I’m damaged goods.

  It’s time to grow up and put my wild streak behind me. To finally stop pining after a man who’s nothing more than a ghost that manifests a single night of the year. I’ll never truly escape the night my parents died. Trauma like that writes itself into your very bones. But that doesn’t mean I have to wrap myself in the chains of grief and let it pull me under. Not anymore.

  I promised my therapist I’d stop using my birthday as an excuse to cut myself open just so I can be sure I still bleed.

  Later. I’ll do all the right things later.

  Tonight, though? At midnight, my twenty-fifth birthday begins. The nine-year anniversary of my becoming an orphan. No one c
an tell me those aren’t auspicious numbers. I plan to make it one for the record books. A birthday to put all my others to shame. One to finally get whatever closure I can.

  I’m an adult, after all. I have been for a long time.

  I don’t need Devan playing the part of my savior anymore. I don’t want it.

  What I do want is forbidden. Nine different kinds of wrong for the nine years I’ve been an orphan. The nine years he’s been my distant guardian.

  I want Devan. Only for a single night. What better way is there to put the past behind me once and for all? Surely I’m not the only one who’s felt the tension snapping between us during our rare moments together? Surely I’m not the only one who’s harbored breathtakingly hot fantasies about what we’d do if his control ever slipped?

  Tonight, I mean to find out.

  Chapter 2

  I smooth a hand down my gown. I’ve chosen the location of this birthday carefully. This is no rave, no wild club, no particularly intense house party like when I turned twenty. Compared to all my former birthdays, this place is ridiculously respectful.

  This hotel bar is already full despite the relatively early hour, populated by people whose bank accounts make my trust fund look like pocket change. If Devan tries to manhandle me out of here, it will do more than raise eyebrows.

  If he comes at all.

  I twist on my barstool and pick up my glass of scotch. It’s expensive and peaty and oh so pretty as I swirl it in my glass. I don’t drink scotch often. It’s filled with too many memories and even the good ones are a sharp knife; a breathless moment of release, followed by shockingly intense pain. Even now.

  This might all be for naught. Devan has the uncanny ability to sense when I’m about to tip over the edge. I feel that way right now, but it’s entirely different than my birthdays since my parents died. I ignore the doubt that arises at that thought. It is different. This is closure that I desperately need. A period at the end of so much grief.

  Before, I was flinging myself headlong into a bonfire just to feel something.

  Tonight, I’m leaping out of a plane and praying my parachute isn’t about to malfunction.

  I take a sip of the scotch, letting it play over my tongue. It tastes like bittersweet memories, and my throat gets a little tight in response.

  “You’re too pretty to be drinking that, darling.”

  I bite back a sigh of impatience. The trio of men sitting at the table in the corner have been watching me from the moment I walked in. They’re all about ten years older than me, and all sporting wedding rings. This foolish soul clumsily slipped off his before he worked up the courage to approach me.

  I don’t have many standards, especially when I get to feeling too tight for my skin. But there are lines even I won’t cross. Hurting myself with my actions is one thing; hurting someone else is something else altogether. I refuse to do it.

  “Are you about to tell me that only old men drink scotch?” I hold this stranger’s gaze as I lift the glass to my lips and take a long swallow. “Guess I’m not your type.”

  He stares, alcohol obviously dulling his senses and making it take time for my words to penetrate. Slowly, understanding dawns. His already red face flushes a red so dark, it’s nearly purple. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

  “Most people do.”

  His eyes snag on my lips, painted a crimson to match the gown that hugs my body like a second skin. “Bet you know what to do with it.”

  I’m already tired of this conversation, already bored with this man who thinks a dull pick-up line and a short temper are the least bit attractive. “You’ll never know.”

  I turn back to the bar, but I can’t help watching him out of the corner of my eye. If he reacted strongly enough to a simple comment about my obvious lack of interest, I doubt he’s going to take a clear rejection now. The bartender is occupied with a pair of pretty women on the other side of the room. There will be no help from him. Not that I need help, but getting into a confrontation will ruin my chances of this night playing out how I’ve planned. I don’t know if and when Devan will show up, and the last thing I need is him riding in to save me when I don’t need to be saved.

  Not this year.

  The man draws himself up, and this time I can’t stifle my sigh. Confrontation, it is. If I take care of this quickly, hopefully it won’t derail the rest of the night. “Look, you seem like a nice guy—”

  “Do you know who I am? You can’t talk to me like that.” He leans forward, getting in my space.

  I stare at the bottles populating the wall across from me. They’re all top shelf and expensive, even though the presentation is a bit dull. Kind of like this guy. I shrug. “It’s a free country. I didn’t ask you to come over here. I can talk to you however I damn well please.”

  “You little bitch. You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” His voice goes high and angry. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, bitch.”

  The air in the bar shifts. I shiver, the small hairs lifting on the back of my neck. Oh no. I thought I could take care of this before Devan arrived. I’d half convinced myself he wouldn’t show up at all. Looks like I’m wrong on both counts.

  “Are you listening to me?” The man reaches a rough hand to wrap around my arm.

  He never makes contact.

  I feel him at my back half a breath before Devan grabs the stranger’s wrist. “The lady said she wasn’t interested.” His voice is low, but clear. He also sounds fucking furious.

  Damn it.

  “Who the fuck are—“ he curses as Devan tightens his grip, causing the man’s hand to splay out. “Fine. Fuck. She’s ugly, anyway.”

  “Leave.” The quiet violence in Devan’s tone makes me shiver. If I were smarter, I wouldn’t find that so attractive. I certainly wouldn’t be quietly delighted by him defending me, even though it’s going to make accomplishing my goals for tonight that much more difficult.

  He came.

  Victory makes me lightheaded. So much so that I nearly miss his next words. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

  Leaving. Because he’s not here for me, not really. He’s here to bundle me up and cart me to safety like he’s done for the last six years. I can’t let that happen, and him interceding just now is only going to make this look like it’s just another birthday.

  I have one chance to get things back on track. I can’t yell or get dramatic or cause a scene. That will just confirm to Devan that he’s right and I’m in trouble. The only option is to not give him anything to work with. The bartender finally returns to the bar itself and I motion him over with a smile. “Another, please.”

  “Hazel.” The warning in Devan’s tone makes my thighs clench together. “You’re going home.”

  No. I am most certainly not going home. Not alone. “Can’t go home,” I say breezily. “Home is a few thousand miles away.” At least one of them.

  “You have an apartment a few blocks from here.”

  Of course he knows that. He’s the executor of the trust fund I inherited with my parents’ death. He’s been painfully responsible with it; from what my financial advisor tells me, I have even more money now than I did upon my parents’ death because of Devan’s careful investments. He never meets with me about money. All my requests go through the financial advisor. Not that Devan tells me no often. He doesn’t tell me anything at all.

  That would require speaking to me.

  I check the diamond watch on my wrist. Not much longer now.

  “Hazel.”

  “Have a drink with me, Devan.” I lift my glass. “For old time’s sake.”

  “Hazel.” Something filters into his tone, something besides barely restrained irritation. Devan looks around, seems to clock how many people are watching us. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”

  I smile, though my chest hurts a bit. “I’m told I’m always difficult.”

  He turns back to me, that strange look still lingering in his dark eyes. Finally, he s
ighs. “One drink and then I’m putting you in a cab.”

  Yeah, I don’t think so. I almost laugh, but he won’t appreciate it. I’ve only won the first encounter; it will take a lot of doing to win the war itself. The bartender chooses that moment to appear with the second drink. He sets it on the bar and moves off without a word.

  I sip my scotch. “You know, it’s very stalkerish that you keep figuring out where I am on my birthday. Seems like a lot of work without much payoff.”

  Devan glares at his drink as if it insulted his mother. “Don’t play innocent, Hazel. It doesn’t suit you. All I have to do is look you up on social media. You post your location for the entire world to see.”

  “Oh. That.” I smile against my glass. I always, always post leading up to my birthday and tag my location. I have ever since that first birthday in Mallorca. “It makes sense for me to post so often. I make a lot of money on social media sponsorships. They like to send me places. Nothing strange about that.” It wasn’t something I was overly into in my teens, but there’s a certain high that only a perfectly curated social media feed can deliver. I’ve even started designing them for other people and making a good living at it. Not that I need the money, but I like the work.

  “You’re a menace.” He says it so softly, I don’t think he means for me to hear it.

  He has no idea.

  We drink in silence for several long moments. Or, rather, I drink and Devan watches me. Now that the time is upon me, my courage wavers. Just because Devan has been such a huge, if contained, part of my life doesn’t mean he feels the same way. I very well could have imagined that spark that seems to sizzle between us whenever he gets too close. Just like I could have misinterpreted what happened on my last birthday…