I put my hand on the small of Celine’s back and guide her from the room. Every instinct roars at me to go back in there, to make him pay for even thinking about doing that to Celine. Let alone actually doing it.
Which he would have. Which hestillwould, if given the chance.
Celine rushes forward as if wanting to get away from my touch.
In the kitchen, she leans against the counter, her hands on her hips, breathing slowly. The small sounds of panic she makes cuts me to my core.
“I have to go,” she says, making for the door.
I move fluidly into her path. She stares at me with wide eyes in shock, as if wondering how someone so big can move so swiftly. It’s not the first time someone has looked at me like that.
“Unless you’re going to stay with your brother, I can’t let you go.”
“I don’t want to see Julian,” she hisses.
“Then I need you here. You’re a target. I wouldn’t… be able to…”
I trail off twice because she’s got a mocking smirk on her face. “No, please, go ahead. Finish that noble thought.” A pause. “Weren’t you going to say you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself? That’s my guess. Am I right?”
“What’s your damn point?”
“Just seems a strange thing for theBeastto say.”
I’ve got no arguments there.
“Hate what I am if you want, Celine.” At least that might stop us from kissing, touching, and burning again together. “But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She tugs at her clothes, letting out a groan. My instincts stir when I see her hands smoothing over her body, but I try not to let it show.
And I fail. Clearly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she hisses.
“You need to settle down. Try to get some rest. You’ve been at work, then this crap… it’s too much for one day.”
“It’s too much for one life,” she retorts.
“I’m not going to chain you up,” I growl. “But if you leave, I can’t keep you safe. That’s my only concern.”
“What a Good Samaritan,” she murmurs sarcastically.
“Cut the sass.”
She laughs dryly, shaking her head. “You’ve got no right to tell me what to do. If I’m a prisoner here, where am I staying?”
“I’ll show you to?—”
“Just tell me.”
“Upstairs, second door on the right,” I tell her. “Spare room. It’s got a bed, clean sheets, and an en-suite.”
“I need clothes too,” she says, already turning away.
“Give me your apartment key. I can handle that.”
“Okay, Mr. Mob. Just try not to rob me.”
She tosses her keys onto the counter and leaves the room. I watch her go, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my muscles tight. And still, even when she’s mad at me, hates me even, I can’t stop staring at her.
