Page 40 of Savage Protector

Setting the tablet aside, I replied, “Everything’s fine. I thought I would wait up for you tonight.”

A shadow passed over his face before he headed for the bathroom. “You shouldn’t do that.” His voice was flat, almost cold. It had the power to chill my blood and make me wish I hadn’t stayed up after all. What did I expect? For him to be glad to see me? He used to seem glad. What the hell had changed?

I argued with myself for a few seconds before throwing back the duvet and getting out of bed, following him to the bathroom. He hadn’t closed the door. When he noticed me coming, he tried to kick it shut with his foot.

Too late. I caught it, held it open, saw the rust-colored stains he was washing from his hands. “Is that blood?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

He didn’t bother lying. “Yes. It’s blood.”

“Whose blood?”

“Does it matter?” He worked efficiently, rapidly rubbing his hands together, steam rising from the basin. I couldn’t tear my gaze away even as my dread grew. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen blood on his hands.

“I hope you’re not taking risks out there,” I whispered, shivering as I remembered that horrible night. He and I were strangers then, and we had returned to that dynamic. He may as well have been on the moon. He felt that far away from me now.

And it’s your own damn fault for caring too much in the first place. I knew it was wrong, didn’t I? Knew he was the last man I should ever fall for. I couldn’t repeat Mom’s mistakes. At least she had an excuse—she couldn’t help herself, she never had been able to. I, on the other hand, was supposed to know better. There was nobody to blame but myself.

“I’m doing what I have to do.” He kept washing long after his skin looked clean, his back rising and falling under his T-shirt with every sharp breath. Was he doing it to be extra careful, or did he want to avoid looking at me? Why wouldn’t he look at me?

“And what is that? What do you need to do?”

“You know better than to ask me that.”

There were a lot of things I should have known better than. It was a little too late to think about that now, with my heart in my throat, hanging on his every word. “Do you know anything about all these killings and shootings and stuff that are going on lately?” I blurted out.

He was good at holding things inside, but he wasn’t perfect. The question caught him off guard, making him flinch, and I released a long breath. It was one thing to suspect, but knowing was a whole other issue.

He finally turned off the water and dried his hands on a nearby towel, lifting his stony gaze. “What do you want me to say?” He shrugged. “I told you. All of the good in me is gone. I don’t know if it ever existed or if I let myself get fooled into thinking it did.”

“You’re not giving yourself a chance.”

“Tell that to the guy whose face I just caved in with my fists tonight.” There was something unbearably nasty about the way he said it. He wasn’t bragging, nothing like that. It was more like the tone he took with me the night he found out about Jack. “Aren’t you glad you know?” or whatever it was he said. It was the same thing here.

Stiffening my spine, I told him exactly what I’d been telling myself for days. “You’re doing what you have to do. It’s not like you go around doing this for fun.”

He only snickered. “How do you know?”

I refused to believe he meant it. He was pushing me away like he tried to back at the cabin. That was why he kept coming in late, avoiding me. It was this strange sense of heroism that meant he had to hold me at a distance when all I wanted was to help him in any way I could.

All I wanted was him, no matter whether he thought it was right or wrong.

I could see straight through him, and if I didn’t think he’d be furious, I would have told him so. My heart knew I wasn’t tricking myself, determined to believe a fantasy. Jack wasn’t the only person who saw Grayson for who he truly was. If only he could see himself so clearly.

He dropped the hand towel he was using, narrowing his eyes. “I mean it. How do you know? How do you know this isn’t exactly what I like to do?” Taking one slow step after another, like an animal stalking his prey, he closed the distance between us. No matter how my pulse raced or how the deadly look in his eyes made me shiver, I stood my ground until his heavy-soled boots almost touched my toes.

“I’ll tell you something… I feel more alive right now than I have in too long. The way I felt that night we met.” In a flash, he reached out, taking me by the wrist and placing my hand over his chest. His heart thudded wildly under my palm. “Feel that? So maybe I am doing it for fun, after all. And what does that say about me? Why did you have to stay up and wait for me to come back?”

He held my hand in place with one of his, reaching out to cup the back of my head with the other. If only his touch didn’t undo me like it did. My heart was pounding, too, but warm relief flowed over me at the same time. I was in the middle of a giant game of tug-of-war, getting pulled between fear and desire, knowing I shouldn’t want him but unable to stop.

“Don’t you see?” His soulful eyes searched mine, darting over my face and leaving me feeling exposed. “I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t you get it?”

“Then don’t hurt me.” Reaching up, I touched my hand to his face, my fingers trailing over his scar. He leaned into my touch ever so slightly, his eyes closing while he released a shuddering sigh.

But it didn’t last long before his eyes snapped open again, blazing bright. He tipped my head back to align his mouth with mine. “I’m not sure if I can help it,” he gritted out. “I’m not sure there’s anything I can ever give you but regret.”

When he claimed my mouth again, my soul sang. This was all I wanted—to melt against him, to give myself to him, to be here, his refuge after going out into the world and fighting a battle because of me.

That was why, instead of pushing him away, I pulled him in by his shirt collar, parting my lips, stroking his tongue with mine. The thrill of it was almost enough to curl my toes long before he pushed me backward until my legs hit the bed. I dropped onto it while he yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. I worked his belt, opening it quickly, unbuttoning his jeans, and lowering his zipper so they would fall to his knees. He was already growing, thickening, and I looked up from under my lashes to lock eyes with him as I lowered the waistband of his boxer briefs.