Page 5 of His Savage Vow
There was no fear in her. Just grief. Grief burning so hot it melted everything in her way, including her common sense.
I should’ve found her disrespectful display infuriating.
Instead, I found it to be…enthralling.
And that’s a dangerous reaction. One I don’t get to have. Not with her. Not with the daughter of a man who died under my protection.
“Enzo,” I say, and he instantly appears on the floor above us. “This is Constance Monroe. She’ll be staying with us. Give her one of the guest rooms. Constance, Enzo is my cousin, and the only captain I trust completely right now. I’ve brought him and his crew here to guard my home until we find out who betrayed me and your father. One of his men will bring your things up from the car, and someone will stay outside your room to attend to any needs you may have.”
And to keep an eye on you.
“Your phone will be returned to you once our security team clears it.”
“Fine,” she replies, her eyes wide, looking like she’s a little out of her depth. She came here to vent, not with the intention of staying, of accepting a deal from me. I expect it’ll take some time for her to wrap her head around everything.
“Enzo, I’ll be in my office for the rest of the afternoon,” I say as I turn to leave. “Dinner is at eight,” I say to Constance over my shoulder. “You’ll eat with me.”
“Is that a request?”
“No,” I reply. “It’s an order.”
I don’t wait for her reaction before I disappear down the hall. I already know that she hates me, blames me for Robert’s death. And I hate that she’s not wrong.
Someone in my own fucking crew betrayed us. Betrayedme.And when I find out who they are, there won’t be enough of them left to bury.
And now, apparently, I’m going to have to find them with Constance next to me, reminding me of my failure every second of the day.
When she stormed into my house shaking with fury, rainplastering her hair to her face, her eyes red from crying, I fuckingfroze.
Because her grief, her anguish, dragged me backward through a decade of memories to the night my father died. The night my mother collapsed onto the kitchen floor, sobbing so violently she couldn’t breathe.
I was twenty-two, but that night I felt like a child. Helpless, unable to do anything to ease my mother’s pain. I couldn’t comfort her, and I sure as fuck couldn’t bring my father back.
Crying women are my one weakness, and I hate it. That’s the reason I left a note under her hotel room door, rather than knock. Why I stayed in the SUV at the funeral. I wanted to approach Constance at the graveside.
But as soon as I saw her, soaked to the bone, her shoulders shaking while saying goodbye to her father…
I couldn’t fucking do it.
I watched from behind the darkened glass of the SUV, angry at myself, just like I’d been through my mother’s grief.
If I had gotten out, if I stood close enough to hear her cry, then she might have seen something in my face I don’t allow anyone to see. And I can't afford that. Not with her. Not with anyone.
When she noticed me there, she even called out my cowardice by flipping me off.
Then she showed up at the house, and she was no longer crying. She was fucking furious. And I realized something immediately: Turning her away wasn’t an option. Not because she needed me, though she does. And not because she’s reckless enough to get herself killed if left alone, although she clearly is.
No, I made a deal with her for two reasons. I didn’t want her to leave. And to keep her here, I knew I had to give her something significant enough to appease her wrath.
I’m not happy about caving, allowing her the opportunity toseek her revenge that won’t make losing her father any easier. And I’m not naïve enough to mistake my attraction to her as anything other than a fucking problem.
But something about her—her fire, her rage, her grief carved into determination—hit me in a place I don’t allow to exist anymore.
She stood over her father’s grave while I sat in a silent car, watching her.
Then she came after me.
Fucking hell.
