Page 8 of Caring for Cailin
In truth, I want to race after the asshole right now. Show him what happens to men who touch women without their permission. But that would mean complications I don’t want. So I stay.
Once the three men are gone, I collect the pile of bills and hand them to Cailin. I take a few steadying breaths to tamp down my anger. “Is this enough for the bill and the tip?”
She glances at it. “I think so.”
“Tell me if it isn’t. I’ll cover the rest.”
Her forehead creases as she looks up at me. “Memphis. You didn’t have to do that. What if they call the police?—”
“And tell them I was defending you after that piece of shit touched you. Grabbed you?” I lift her wrist to inspect it. “Hehurtyou.”
Cailin gives her wrist a cursory glance. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not?—”
“It is,” she insists. “Because you protected me. Again.”
“I always will,” I tell her, never meaning anything more. Then I hug her close and let my lips brush against her silky hair. “That’s a promise.”
CHAPTER 2
CAILIN
“I want to get some ice on that.”
Memphis glares at my wrist as if it personally offended him. “You’re definitely going to have bruises,” he observes, “but if we get some ice on them now, they shouldn’t be as bad.”
“It’s fine,” I reassure him. With a teasing smile, I add, “A few bruises, I can handle.”
After everything I suffered at the hands of Dario is the part I don’t mention. I was fortunate not to be given one of the doomed roles in one of his plays, so I escaped the worst of the injuries I’d seen. But Dario didn’t hesitate to punish us if we displeased him, either by defying one of his commands or simply not playing our role to his satisfaction.
“You shouldn’t have to,” he retorts. His forehead creases and his brows draw down. “Ever. And especially not at your workplace. It’s supposed to be safe there.”
As we arrive at my front door, he takes my key and unlocks it. Then he nudges me behind him before opening the door and looking inside. After a brief survey of my living room, he leads me into the apartment and closes the door behind us.
While he’s locking the deadbolt, I ask, “How do you know the restaurant is safe?”
Memphis turns to me. His cheeks are the faintest pink. “I checked the security there.”
“You checked the security? How?”
His gaze moves to the couch. “Why don’t you sit? And I’ll go get you some ice?”
“Memphis.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “How did you check the security at the restaurant?”
Even as I’m asking, I have a sneaking suspicion, given how protective Memphis is, and his close connection with Blade and Arrow Security, the company that Noelle’s now-husband, Webb, works for, that what he did isn’t technically legal.
Memphis loops his arm around my waist and leads me to the couch. I follow along because it’s easier than resisting. And honestly, I like it when he touches me. I like the feel of his big hand splayed over my hip. Whenever he visits, I try to absorb everything about him, from his scent to his reassuring strength to that appealing dimple that comes out whenever he smiles.
“I asked Tyler,” he admits, naming the tech wizard who works for Blade and Arrow’s Oregon branch. “Nothing too intrusive. I just wanted to make sure there was adequate security. Interior and exterior cameras, lighting in the parking lot, no employees with criminal records?—”
He stops. The red spots on his cheeks darken.
And darn it, he’s cute when he blushes.
I know cute isn’t word most people would use to describe Memphis. With his often-stony features and intense gaze, intimidating might be more apt. Or someone might look at his wavy salt-and-pepper hair and striking green eyes and call him handsome. They might notice his shirt pulled taut across his broad shoulders and muscled arms and consider him sexy.
They wouldn’t be wrong. Memphis is all of those things. But what I really like about him are the things most people wouldn’t see unless he allows them to—like his dimple and the way he blushes when he’s been caught out doing something he knows he shouldn’t.
