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C: Put the hummingbird in a glass house. D is on his way back to cage her.

Me: Done.

I don’t bother looking at the rest of the messages, there’ll be time for that once Truie’s safe. The challenge now is getting her out of here without panic and sending her back into her own personal Hell.

Sadness shrouds her eyes and even as she darts them away, I can see that I’ve missed something important. Important to her at the very least and really, that’s what matters.

“I’m sorry, shouldn’t have gotten distracted. What is it that you’ve decided on?”

She doesn’t look at me while shaking her head, the avoidance amplifying the disappointment I feel in myself.

“Tell me,” I prompt, because time is getting tight. We need to go.

Her tongue darts out and slicks her lower lip. Nervous? Indecisive? The why matters, but the act itself is distracting as fuck, and I have to remind my balls they’re not in charge and shove down the urge to follow the trail her tongue makes with my own.

This is so not the time for that. Again, there will be time for that later. I can be a patient man when I want.

“Gelato. I want, um, gelato.” Her brows are pushed together, and her hands twist the throw blanket as she pulls it closer, almost like a shield. “It’s okay though. I d-don’t n-need it.” The head shaking is back and, if I had to guess, I’d put the cause with getting stuck on those couple of words more than the idea of not getting what she wants.

I push to my feet and hold my hand out to her. “I beg to differ. You absolutely need gelato. Let’s get your shoes and a jacket.” I want to reach for her, rush her out the door and down the hallway to my Range Rover. I want to spirit her away from here, hide her away from the vile piece of shit who thinks he can just waltz in here and take her away from me.

Instead, I pull a fuck no and pack her up on the guise of getting her something sweet. I will without a doubt make sure she has her gelato, but we’re not coming back here. I’m going to have to send for more of her clothes, have Garrick pack them up and deliver them.

Jesus Christ, and I’m going to need a change in job titles, there’s no way to do the shit Christophe needs from me. It’s not like my work translates well to the whole work-from-home model. I’ll have to figure that out later too.

That fucking to-do list for later is growing longer by the minute.

“Ready for an adventure, hummingbird?”

Truie freezes, holding tight to the hem of the sweatshirt she just pulled over her head. It’s one of mine, an old one from college, soft and worn and fucking perfect on her.

I’ve loved seeing the way she clings to my clothes, opting to use my wool coat in lieu of a blanket, sometimes choosing my lounge pants over the soft pastel leggings I had brought in for her. My shirts. My socks. There are times when I scoop her up at the end of the day to tuck her into bed, that I find one of my white undershirts clutched in her hands beneath whatever blanket I’ve managed to swap out for my coat. The soft cashmere knit has to feel better against her porcelain skin.

“Just to get gelato, and maybe a drive? You’ve been stuck here for a long time, change of scenery might be good.” It’s a lie wrapped up in tiny truths, and I fucking hate the dichotomy.

A lot has happened since the last time I tried to spirit her away from the estate. Hell, both times I’ve had her in the car with me have been nothing short of disastrous, but I need her safe. And at the moment, this place doesn’t qualify.

Slower than I care for, she acquiesces, slipping her hand into mine and following me through the halls.

I open the passenger door and help her into her seat. Her reaction when I put my hands on her is better and better every time. Mine though? Each touch is harder on me than the last and I have to work at thinking boner-killing thoughts.

Sure, I gave her a mind-blowing orgasm, but when she shared that it was her first?—yeah, we’ll be taking shit slow.

After everything she endured, I can’t imagine she’ll be comfortable with me grabbing her ass and rubbing my dick all over her any time soon. I want to wrap my body around her, cover her in tender kisses and some not so tender ones. Explore every sacred inch of her.

“Can you manage your seatbelt, or do you need my help?”

“I can get it.” I know she can. Each jump in her confidence brings her back a little bit more even if it steals an opportunity for me to touch her in the short term.

I round the SUV and climb behind the wheel, pride fighting with desire. I blame my balls.

The need to touch her is overwhelming, so instead of relying on the camera display, I sling my arm across the back of the passenger seat, turn my body, and reverse out of my spot.

Then I let my hand linger.

A touch of her hair becomes a perfect silken curl spiraled around my finger. A brush of her shoulder becomes a caress of her delicate neck. A slide down her arm becomes her hand clasped in mine.

And Truie doesn’t pull away. Her delicate hand, smooth and cool, stays in mine, and I revel in that win. I also resist the urge to put it on my dick. Go me.