The Guardian Read Online Georgia Le Carre

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
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Dante.

What do I remember of her?

Enormous eyes, skin like silk, rivulets of water running down her body and dripping onto the tiles, and her mouth, cherry-red and... so juicy.

But she was forbidden fruit.

That was ten years ago. I was young and poor. I'm immeasurably rich now. She won't affect me like that anymore. I won't fall for her charms. Her safety must be my only concern.

She is determined to fight me. She insists she doesn't need a guardian, even though she can't disguise the fear in her eyes.

Nevertheless, I've got it all under control.

Until... that red mouth touches mine

Zola

I never forgot him.

Jet-black hair curling over his collar, his throat so tanned and strong. And those incredible eyes. Blue, but not any old blue. Blue like the deepest part of the ocean during a terrible storm.

He looked like an avenging angel.

He never spoke to me so I don't know what he sounds like, but in my dreams his voice is deep and velvety. He whispers things that I am unable to recall when I wake up.

I thought I'd never see him again.

But now he has stepped back into my life, at a time when I am most vulnerable. I realize my memories and dreams are a pale imitation of him.

They do him no justice.

He is bigger, darker, and far more powerful than I remember. And his voice is nothing like I imagined it would be. It is dangerously low and impossibly magnetic.

He offers me his protection, but as much as I want to accept his offer, I don't know if I can trust him. After all, he is the reason I'm vulnerable.

It would be safer to hate him, but the more I try to resist him, the more my body craves for the feel of his lips, his skin, his...
A Full Length Enemies To Lovers Standalone Romance

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

ZOLA

“Istill can’t believe you’re actually here,” I exclaimed with a small laugh of happiness.

My father chuckled and it made me realize again how much I loved hearing him laugh in that low comforting way that he only did when he was with me. Whenever we were together hearing him laugh wasn’t rare, but the problem was we were rarely ever together.

“How long are you going to torture me about not being around enough?” he asked softly.

“Forever,” I replied as I stirred the cake batter.

“Trust me, it will get better. I will reduce my workload,” he promised.

“But by then I probably won’t be here anymore.” I lifted my eyes and watched the smile slowly disappear from his face.

Silently, he slid the lined baking pan over to me.

I bit my bottom lip and set the spatula down. “I don’t want to make you feel bad, Papa. I just want us to take advantage of the precious time we have together now. Don’t forget, soon I'll be graduating from high school and off to college. And after that, I’ll probably be too occupied finding a job and life in general. Or am I wrong?”

“I’ll do better, Zola,” he said gravely, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement. “But please don’t do that passive-aggressive thing with me. It intimidates the hell out of me.”

That amused, guilty look tugged at my heart but I couldn’t show him that. I folded my arms, one eyebrow raised. “That’s all you have to worry about? Me being passive-aggressive.”

That smile stayed, curving the corners of his lips. “I suppose it could be worse. You could be doing drugs or … getting pregnant.”

My eyes widened and suddenly I was so embarrassed I couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Your cheeks have gone red. Is it too hot in here?” he asked innocently.

I pretended to laugh airily. “Why do you have to be so awkward all the time, Papa?”

“What is awkward?” he asked. “Because I mentioned you getting pregnant? You surely can’t possibly know how that works at your age.”

Now I was horrified. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

But he was on a roll and refused to stop. “Oh wait! You know how that works?”

“Papa,” I warned. “I swear, I will walk out of here this instant if you don’t stop.”

“Why are you so shy?” he asked, staring directly into my eyes.

I squirmed internally.

“Oh, my God. I really have been absent, haven’t I? You seem to know more than you should.”

I set the bowl I’d been about to empty into the pan down on the counter and turned to walk away, but he caught me by my wrist and drew me toward him for a hug. I relished every single moment of this closeness. Though, of course, the last thing I was going to do was let him know.

I pretended to groan. “Let me go.”

But he only squeezed me tighter and playfully growled, “Never.”

“Ugh yuck,” I complained, but I couldn’t help giggling.

“I better hold on tight before I'm not able to anymore,” he said and planted a sloppy, noisy kiss on my cheek as if I was still a child. “You’re already sounding way too mature for me. I can’t even make up my mind if it's a good thing, or if it’s my fault you had to grow up so fast.”

I didn’t bother sparing his feelings. “It’s a hundred percent your fault. The cake’s gonna burn,” I said, pulling away.

“Impossible,” he refuted. “We haven’t put it into the oven yet.”

“Well, we should. It’s almost midnight and if we don’t do it now, it’s not going to be ready for my birthday at midnight.”

“Calm down and enjoy being a teenager, Zola,” he murmured gently. “You're not an adult. Stop being so fixated on time and results.”

“Look who’s talking,” I teased.

I hurried over to the marble counter, transferred the batter into the round baking pan, banged the pan on the hard surface a few times to let the air bubbles out and slid it into the oven.

“Done,” I said, shooting him a smile, but I was disappointed to see his cell phone had once again made its appearance.

I was determined not to say a word in protest as he scrolled through his messages. Instead, I focused my attention on making sure the oven temperature was right. But when I turned around and saw him texting rapidly into his device, a huge frown across his forehead, I knew I had to say something or he would be lost to me again.

“Papa,” I called just as his phone began to ring. He lifted a finger in my direction and, taking the call, began to bark out orders in rapid Italian, probably to one of his staff.

My heart fell as I tried to convince myself there was no need to worry. He’d promised that he had cleared the entire night for me. And so far, whenever he had said that, especially on my birthdays, he always came through.



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