His arm shoots out and wraps around my waist.
The world stops.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just suddenly and completely.
Neither of us moves.
His hand just rests there, like it’s always known the exact shape of me. My breath catches, my pulse stuttering as my body betrays me, leaning instinctively into the contact before my brain catches up.
We just breathe.
“Lily, life is going to look a little different for you for a while. I’m not here to stop you. I’m here to protect you.”
I step back like his touch burns, like if I don’t put space between us right now, I’ll do something I can’t take back.
“What are you? My bodyguard?” I snap.
I need to push him and whatever this is between us away.
He tilts his head. “Yeah. If that’s what you want to call it.”
Then he closes the distance again. As if he’s testing how close he’s allowed to get before I bolt.
“I’m someone who will jump in front of a bullet for you. I’m a man who will do terrible things to keep you breathing. You won’t even notice me. I’ll just be there so you can feel safe.”
My heart slams so hard it hurts. I rub at my chest, grounding myself, trying to remind my body that safety isn’t the same thing as desire.
But my body doesn’t listen.
“So you’re just going to watch me?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Like I need babysitting? What if someone gets to me before you?”
He chuckles softly, like the idea is almost amusing, running a hand through his blond hair.
“Won’t happen, Lily. No one dangerous will get close enough to even breathe in your air. Understand?”
The certainty in his voice does something to me. It makes my knees weak. Makes my stomach flip with something that feels a lot like trust.
I nod. “So… I can’t go home?”
“No.”
Then a grin spreads across his face, and how fucking gorgeous he looks shouldn’t be allowed. It changes everything about him. Softens him just enough to make the ache worse.
“But I will go and collect the things you want. Just write me a list.” He pulls out his phone, opens Notes, and hands the device to me.
This means I’m staying here with my dad.
I type quickly. Crystals. Jewelry box hidden in my wardrobe. My work notepad. Nothing embarrassing. Nothing that would give away how unraveled I feel. Definitely not the vibrator I keep in my nightstand.
I hand the phone back to him.
“I’ll go now. And this is your room. I’ll bring your bags up here,” he tells me, and he looks at me, right at me. Enough to steal my breath.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it more than I want to.
He turns to leave, then stops, like something catches in him. “Your father is downstairs. I’ll tell him to stay down there until you’re ready to speak to him.”
My throat tightens painfully. “Thank you, Drago.”
