A woman I spent one night with. A woman whose name I didn’t even know until three days after she disappeared from my bed. A woman who should have meant nothing to me.
Still, she got under my skin, and now she’s mine to protect. I head for my apartment, hoping to meet her there.
It takes twenty minutes for my phone to buzz again.
She’s here.
Keep her entertained. I’ll be there in 5.
When I enter my apartment, she stands between my men, untouched, unrestrained, but clearly brought here against her will. Her eyes blaze with anger even through the fear. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. Her jaw is tight. And when her eyes land on me, they narrow.
Her voice is sharp enough to slice steel. “What the hell is this?”
I stop a few feet from her. “This is for your safety,” I tell her sharply.
“And you couldn’t have just called me?” she accuses. “Who the hell even are you?”
The men beside her tense, not used to hearing me spoken to like that. I ignore them.
“Are you finished?” I ask quietly.
“No,” she says with an incredulous laugh. “Not even close! I was just lounging in my apartment when some strange man told me he’s your friend and basically kidnapped me. Who does that? Are you insane?”
Despite myself, something almost like amusement shakes loose in my chest.
“Apparently.” I smirk. “But your attacker came back, and I felt I needed to step in.”
Her jaw goes slack at that.
“How…” she trails off thoughtfully. “How did you even know that?”
Her expression falters for the first time. Fear flickers. But then she straightens her spine again.
I snap my fingers to dismiss my men, and they quickly make themselves scarce. This isn’t a conversation I want an audience for.
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” I finally tell her, softening the blow as much as I can.
“What does that mean?” she asks, crossing her arms.
“I have a security detail,” I answer honestly. “I’ve asked them to trail you.”
That really upsets her. Her face turns a shade of red so deep it’s almost purple, and her voice goes shrill.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she screams. “You had no right to do that! For how long?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her sharply, shutting down all arguments. “You’re out of harm’s way now, and that’s what counts.”
“No, that isn’t what matters,” she screeches. “This is a total invasion of my privacy. You could have just called me and asked me out like a normal person. I didn’t ask for your help.”
“No,” I say. “But you need it.”
She opens her mouth to retort, but I lift a hand and step closer.
“Don’t bother denying it. I know you were threatened. I know he waited for you. I know he approached you in broad daylight. And I know he will try again.”
She swallows hard. Her hands curl into fists at her sides.
“You were spying on me,” she says again, venom in her tone.
