Page 16 of Protecting Paige

Then his gaze as he looked at me; all his emotions on full display. Anger. Worry. Relief. And a look that went deeper than words. A look heavy with something more than affection.

“Paige,” he breathes. He strokes my hair again, and this time I notice the slight tremor of his hand. His eyes burn into mine. “God, Paige. Are you okay?”

I’m momentarily distracted by Derrick whining, “This isn’t what was supposed to happen. You’re supposed to live alone! I watched to makesure.”

Cillian’s head jerks in Derrick’s direction, and he growls, “Youwatchedher?” The muscles in his jaw work. Then, morecoldly, he adds, “I’d suggest you shut your mouthright now. Or the police may show up to find a body instead.”

Is it weird that I’m not bothered in the least by Cillian’s threat? That I actually find this dangerous Cillian sexy?

And oh, is he.

As I stare at Cillian’s face, I catalog the details of it. His strong jaw, covered with a dark shadow of stubble. His wide mouth, with a dimple to the left of it. His Romanesque nose and his expressive eyebrows. And his eyes… the color is somewhere between emerald and evergreen with tiny flecks of gold and amber mixed in.

I notice the scars, too—one slashing down his forehead and another cutting across his cheek. But just as I thought, they don’t detract from his handsome features. They’re just a part of who he is, like my freckles and unruly hair that likes to erupt into crazed curls whenever it rains.

“Paige,” Cillian repeats once he’s turned his attention back to me. “Are you hurt anywhere?” His gaze flickers to my bare ankles, which are rubbed raw from struggling against my bindings. Those muscles in his jaw twitch again. “Other than your ankles, and I’m assuming, your wrists,” he clarifies.

I do a quick self-inventory, taking stock. Wrists and ankles are definitely sore, but nothing critical. My right bicep throbs from where Derrick grabbed me. I’m shaky, most likely from the fading adrenaline rush. But overall, I’m in pretty good shape. Especially considering I was just held hostage by a man with a gun.

“I’m okay,” I reply. “Nothing more than some bruises.”

Cillian frowns. “Bruises aren’t okay. He never should have—” He stops. His mouth pinches. “Anyway. Let’s get these ropes off you. And I need to call the police.”

A wail erupts from the floor. “No! I can’t go to jail!”

“Then you shouldn’t have broken into her house and held her at gunpoint,” Cillian snaps. Then he pulls a knife from his pocket and unsheathes it, revealing a wicked-looking blade beneath.

As he carefully cuts through the ropes at my ankles, I say, “He’s one of my callers. Derrick… something. He wanted me to look into the future and tell him how to fix his life.” The lingering fear makes my voice shake. “He lives nearby and saw me walking dogs through his neighborhood. And I guess… I said hi to him. I don’t remember, but he recognized my voice. And he…”

“Paige.” It’s low and strained. “I’m so damn sorry.” The ropes drop away from my ankles. Cillian gently rubs my sore skin, and I’m shocked by the sizzles of electricity his touch leaves behind.

“I’m just glad you came,” I reply. Nothing could be more true. Not just because he saved me, but because he’s finally here.

Cillian moves behind me to work at the ropes around my wrists. Once again, his fingers slide across my skin, slightly rough but achingly tender. “I asked some of my Army buddies to help find you,” he says. “I know it was a breach of privacy, but I had to do something.”

Once my wrists are free, I shake my arms out. Painful tingles shoot through them. Cillian looks at my face and says, “It’s just the circulation coming back after your arms were pulled back like that for so long. It’ll go away in a minute or so.”

I don’t want to think about how he knows that.

He grasps my hands and pulls me gently to my feet. I sway slightly, more from overwhelming relief than anything. But Cillian—my hero—immediately wraps an arm around me, tugging me close to his chest.

And oh, my, his chest is just as hard and muscly as I thought it would be. “I’m alright,” I tell him. But I’m in no hurry to leave his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Cillian repeats. “For having my friends find your address. But I thought if I tried to call your company, it might take longer.”

“It’s fine.” I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “But how…”

“I got on the road as soon as I had your address. I called the police, of course, but they came by and claimed everything looked fine.”

“I heard them. The police. Someone knocked, but Derrick threatened to hurt me if I made a sound.”

The arm wrapped around me goes rigid. Tension vibrates through Cillian’s body. “I should have hit him again,” he grits out.

“You did a pretty good job, I think.” A glance over at Derrick—who’s currently flopping around like an upended turtle—shows an already-reddening bruise on his jaw. “I can’t believe how fast you took him down.”

Pride flickers across Cillian’s face. A slight smile quirks his lips. “I practice every day. Jiu Jitsu, Krav Maga, and Taekwondo.”

“Well, you looked really good at it.” And sexy, though I’m not mentioning that part right now.