“That’s it. You’re safe. Just keep breathing.” His thumb circles my cheek, soothing me and making my skin tingle all at the same time. “Good girl. Just like that. Keep breathing.” His deep gruff voice soothes me, his eyes hypnotising.
I don’t miss how he examines the matchbook, probably thinking I’m crazy for freaking out over an empty piece of card used to house matches.
Maybe it’s a coincidence. It’s the biggest Casino in London. It isn’t unheard of for someone to visit then come to another bar in another city. People travel for business all the time. I’m overreacting. It’s been months since I left London. They’ve probably forgotten all about me by now. Hopefully.
The CCTV footage of me fleeing the scene of the crime aired on Crimewatch TV didn’t help. I always wanted to be a famous dancer, but not like that.
Dom reaches around me into my car and turns the key, but it’s dead as a dodo. He then steps away to look under the bonnet again. This time giving it a thorough inspection. A chill courses through my veins at the loss of his body next to mine and those soothing tattooed hands that warm my cheeks.
“Damnit.” He lifts a broken cable. “Someone’s been fucking with your car. Your shitty battery probably saved your life.”
My body stills. Everything locks in position, and I can’t move my limbs. I have no doubt they were here now; the matchbook left near my car like a calling card.
He lowers the bonnet. “Do you know who would do this?”
I shake my head. There’s a sure way of scaring off guys. Don’t get too clingy and don’t tell them you’re on the run from a gangster.
“I’ll take you home. I can come back tomorrow and deal with your car.”
I shake my head again, faster this time, reality crashing over me. “It’s fine. I can get an Uber.” I open the car door to get my phone.
His arm circles my waist. “My car’s here.” He points to a black Range Rover, gesturing for me to get in. “Let me take care of you.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I’ve never been a good judge of character. You only need to look at my track record to know that I have the worst taste in men. But looking into his eyes, I do believe I can trust him. They’re not the same cold eyes as the men I’m used to.
“Get in.” He opens the passenger door to his Range Rover.
With my phone in my hand, I think about texting Sasha. I know she’d come and get me, but she’s a single mum with two kids. If my past has caught up with me, I don’t want to get her involved.
Dom corners the Range Rover to the driver’s side. The leather creaks as his six-foot frame slides behind the wheel. If anyone can protect me, it’s him.
My shaky fingers slot the seatbelt into the buckle. The engine roars to life, vibrating the car to match my limbs. This is my dumbest move ever. Who the heck gets in a car with their stalker? For all I know, he could’ve tampered with my car. That thought actually makes me feel better than the alternative. Despite not knowing much about the man at my side, I would sooner take my chances with him than the guy I ran from.
He backs out of the parking space and out of the empty car park onto a main road.
My fingers twist the strap of my bag that sits on my knees. “My home is on the moss—”
“I know where you live.”
My eyes widen. I was only kidding with all the stalker stuff, but it seems Sasha was right. I’ve only been kidding myself. “So you are stalking me, then?”
“I followed you home one night to make sure you were safe.”
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. My taste in men is far from perfect, but trust me to add a stalker to the list. I shake that thought away, refusing to believe this guy will hurt me. If he wanted to hurt me, he could’ve done it weeks ago.
“I won’t hurt you. You can trust me.”
He’s a mind reader too, apparently. I relax into the leather a little, but clutch the strap of my bag as if it’s a lifeline. “So, is this how you pick up girls? Stalk them for weeks then sabotage their car?” A half snort, half laugh escapes me. “If you wanted to take me out, you only had to ask.”
He glances my way before focusing back on the road. “I didn’t touch your car, Red.” The serious tone has me wiping the half smile from my face.
“But you admit to stalking me?”
“You call it stalking. I call it surveillance.” He swerves, taking a corner.
“Surveillance? Are you a copper?” Oh no, that’s even worse. Sweat coats my skin while I wait for his reply. My brows pinch together. “You don’t look like a cop, more like an inmate.” Another snort escapes my nose. Especially an inmate with the buzzcut he’s sporting so well.
“No. I’m not a cop.” His lip quirks in the corner.
