“Oh, no,” I mumbled, the words barely escaping my clenched teeth. “There’s really no need. I can walk inside perfectly fine on my own.”
“I’m sure you can,” he murmured. His voice was softer than before, almost hesitant. He continued to exit the car.
Quickly, I fumbled with my own door handle, eager to rush after him. Once I’d caught up, he ducked through the doorway to the apartment building, this time without complaint or even a grimace.
Finally, I reached the door to my apartment. Just as I was about to twist the knob and step inside, a large hand clamped down on my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. I whipped my head around to find Max standing impossibly close.
His gaze wasn’t on me though. Instead it was on the doorknob—that rusty, unassuming thing. Max’s hand, which was still wrapped around my wrist, was surprisingly gentle. The hold he had on me was more hesitant than forceful.
“How long has that been unlocked?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He nudged his head slightly toward the door.
He didn’t need to elaborate further.
“Let’s see,” I mused, pretending to think deeply. It was childish, I knew. Still, I couldn’t help but make a face. “When was the last time you were here?”
“Weeks ago,” he deadpanned. His lips twitched with frustration. He looked at me as if he knew what my answer would be.
“Ah, thenweeksago,” I said with a cunning tone.
“Christ,” he said.
The man could be so sassy sometimes.
He let my arm go, then I twisted the door open. He glanced across the room and welcomed himself into my apartment.Again. Was this going to become a regular occurrence?
Max shook his head as if he couldn’t believe how careless I’d been. He was always paranoid, always worried about me, as if I were a porcelain doll in a war zone. I wasn’t sure why he cared so much about my safety—not when Dad had spent years separating the Irish Outfit from any threats. He’d put us so far under the radar that not many people even knew we existed. I was safe, especially considering he handled most of his business overseas anyway, which Max should be well aware of.
Still, he went around my apartment checking all the nooks and crannies. Should I be flattered he cared this much, or worried? Perhaps my father paid him a lot of money and that was his reason for being so thorough.
He finished his circuit around the room with a grunt of disapproval. “See?” he finally said, bringing my attention to the windows. “Wide-open like this. Asking for trouble.”
He closed it. Locked it.
My hands fell to my hips. “I needed air earlier and must’ve forgotten to close it.”
“We’ve talked about this, Rosalie. Air circulates even with the windows shut. You also have central AC perfectly capable of keeping you cool,” he mumbled as he headed to the door.
“Seriously?”
He ignored my question, his gaze hardening. “You may think you’re safe, but the world hasn’t forgotten who your family is.There are those who wouldn’t hesitate to exploit a weakness, a careless mistake.”
“Do you worry about me?” I asked.
“A stray bullet with your name on it wouldn’t exactly improve my day.”
There was a vulnerability in Max’s words I hadn’t seen before; a glimpse behind the walls he always kept up.
I pushed a little further. “Is that all?” I pressed.
“What else would there be?” he mumbled defensively.
“Maybe you care a little more than you let on,” I suggested, tilting my head to gauge his reaction.
“Don’t get cocky,” he warned.
“Cockiness is the least of my worries.” A playful smile tugged at my lips. “Besides, you’re here to keep those stray bullets at bay, aren’t you?”
He humored me. “I’m not bulletproof, you know.”
