Page 37 of Reaper's Desire

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I can give you right now."

She studies me for a long moment, and I can see her mind working, trying to piece together the puzzle with the limited information I've given her. She licks her lips nervously. "A businessman. Like my father?"

I nod tightly. "Something like that."

Her mouth thins. "So you've been following me."

"Protecting you."

"That's the same thing!"

"No." I take another step closer, and she doesn't back away this time. "Following you would be watching from a distance and doing nothing. Protecting you means putting myself between you and anyone who wants to hurt you."

"Why?" The question comes out as barely more than a whisper. "Why would you do that? You don't even know me. Just because we…"

This is the other moment. The one where I have to decide how much truth to give her.

I could lie. I could tell her it's because I'm a good person, because I couldn't stand by and watch an innocent woman die, because it's the right thing to do. But I think she'd see through it. She knows, I think, after what we did together, that I'm no fucking angel, no matter what lie I've given her about what I do for work. So I give her a piece of the truth. Just enough to be believable.

"Because I couldn't let you die."

"That's not an answer either."

My jaw tightens, frustration starting to bleed through everything else. "It's the only one I have for you."

She's so close to me. I can smell her perfume, the heat wafting off of her skin. It reminds me of the hotel room in Ibiza, of her skin against mine, of the way she gasped my name when she came. The memory hits me like a punch to the gut.

I remember the feel of her body beneath mine, the way she moved, the sounds she made. The way she looked at me afterward, her eyes soft and satisfied, her body limp with pleasure.

I remember my hands around her throat and the way we came together while I held her an inch from death. I couldn't kill her then.

And I can't let anyone else kill her now.

"I couldn't let you die," I repeat, my voice rougher now, "because when I'm with you, I feel something I haven't felt in a very long time."

Her eyes widen. "What?" she whispers.

"Alive."

The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. She stares at me, her eyes searching mine, and I let her look. Let her see whatever she needs to see to believe me.

"You're asking me to trust you," she says finally. "To believe that you're protecting me from some threat I can't see, can't verify, can't understand. You're asking me to stay here with you, alone, when you've already proven you're capable of hurting someone with your bare hands."

"Yes."

"That's insane."

I let out a sharp breath. "I know."

"I should run. Get as far away from you as possible."

"You could try." I hold her gaze. "But whoever wants you dead will find you eventually. And when they do, I won't be there to stop them."

She's quiet for a long moment, her arms still wrapped around herself, her body trembling slightly. She studies my face, and I can see the war playing out behind her eyes. Fear versus desperation, distrust versus the need to believe someone can keep her safe. "If I stay," she says slowly, "I need proof. I need something concrete that proves what you're saying is true."

"I can't give you that. Not without putting you in more danger."