“Oh…” I murmur, unable to hold my head up. “I just need to close my eyes for a few seconds, then I?—”
When my cheek presses against his chest, all coherent words vanish. I’m swamped with sensation. Heat. So much heat.
The man is as warm as a summer afternoon. Solid as a mountain. Big as an NFL player.
He tucks me closer.
“I’m taking her home,” he says and it floats into my mind like a dream.
His deep tone rumbles below my ear, but my eyes are blurry, drifting closed and I don’t know who he’s talking to.
Or why I’m completely zonked out against his chest.
Is this…?
“Is this what safety feels like?”
Tightening his hold on me, my hero makes a deep masculine sound. “It is, honey. There’s no safer place than in my arms. Nothing can hurt you now.”
SIX
Chase
All eyes are on me when I stride through the back door, into the restaurant. Open mouthed stares follow. Forks hover mid-air.
“Where’s her purse?” I demand of the nearest person who appears to be an employee.
“Uh…”
A waitress jolts to a stop in front of me, the tray of drinks in her hand almost spilling.
“She probably put it in the break room.”
Celeste’s warm, slow breathing ghosts along my neck, making my heart drop into a slow, steady rhythm. She’s still asleep. Safe in my embrace.
“Get it for me, will ya?” I reply in a hushed tone.
“Wow. Okay!” The waitress whispers as she blinks. “Be right back.”
Another woman hustles out from the back room as if the place is on fire, fisting her hair, the color of her face pasty white. “Oh my god, Celeste. Is she okay?”
“There was a situation with a man in the alley. The problem has been handled and she won’t be in danger from him again. As you can see, Celeste also won’t be finishing her shift.”
Or any more shifts after this for that matter if I have my way, but that’s a conversation for later.
The swinging doors to the kitchen slam open and the waitress shoots through with a small purse, a jacket, and a slack-mouthed expression.
“Thanks.”
Never one for small talk, I head for the front door, my woman cradled in my arms, the soft hair on her crown tucked below my chin.
There is a burst of voices behind me the instant I kick the front door open, striding into the night.
I’ll have to address that too—eliminate and erase any and all social media posts and new stories about Celeste’s traumatic experience.
That’s one of the many upsides of the kind of clandestine work I do.
Crossing the packed parking lot, I don’t meet any resistance until I am a dozen steps from my truck. That’s when Tice shows up, a scowl on his angular face.
