Page 6 of Ruthless Protector

I wanted to pull away, but one of his massive hands had curled around the back of my knee, holding my leg still as he cleaned it with the other. His fingers were rough and sure and his skin was hot. Those cold nights in winter, when Tilly and I first moved here with barely any money or possessions, only the few things I’d been able to fit in my car—I’d made sure Tilly was warm, given her most of the blankets and quilts. Some nights, I just couldn’t get warm. I’d bet Jude Wayland was warm all over, that you wouldn’t need blankets with him wrapped around you…over you…

“So this guy’s not your ex?” he said into the quiet.

I jolted, my face heating, like he could see where my mind had wandered. “What?”

“The guy, the one who came here tonight, he’s definitely not your ex?” he asked, still not looking up at me as he opened a Band-Aid.

I bristled. “I said he wasn’t.”

He carefully covered the first graze. “You know what he wants?”

“Nope.” Not a lie, though I did know it couldn’t be anything good, and I hoped like hell he was decent enough not to unsettle Tilly after how far she’d come. Who was I kidding? There wasn’t a decent bone in Trent’s body.

“He a loan shark? You owe money?” he asked as he moved to the other knee.

My back went straight. “What? No. I’m not that stupid.”

He was opening another Band-Aid and I snatched it from his fingers and stuck it on myself. Every damn thing came at a cost. This guy wasn’t cleaning me up out of the kindness of his heart, he wanted to make sure I wasn’t some loser magnet that would lower the tone of the street, that some asshole wasn’t going to come here and trash his precious house because I’d pissed off the wrong person. “You done with the questions?”

He stood and I did the same, trying not to wince when my scrapes smarted. No way was I letting the man loom over me. Not that me getting vertical made much difference since the guy was well over six foot.

He shrugged. “You want me to be?” he said mildly, his big body held in a relaxed way, that was anything but relaxed. The man was coiled strength and sharp intelligence.

God, his eyes went soft again and at the same time, intense. I realized suddenly, that he was asking if I needed his help. Another wallop, this time to the gut. I smothered it. As nice as it would be to dump all my worries and fears on someone else’s humongous shoulders, I knew better.

He was protecting his interests, that’s all. He didn’t care about me or Tils, why would he? He barely knew us. I’d learned repeatedly not trust easily, especially a man, with my weaknesses, my soft underbelly, because inevitably, they used it against you, or made promises they couldn’t keep, or walked, leaving you worse off than you were to start with.

I wouldn’t do that to myself, not again, and I wouldn’t do that to Tilly, ex-cop or not. And all that aside, I’d made a promise to my sister, that I would do this alone, and I would.

I didn’t need this man, any man, to rescue me.

“It’s late, I’d like you to leave,” I said, and motioned to the door.

He stood there for a few seconds, eyeballing me, then finally reached back and pulled something from his back pocket and dropped it on the table. His eyes came back to mine. “You ever get worried about anything, here’s my number.”

“I already have your number,” I bit out, sharper than I intended, just wanting him gone.

“This is my work number.” He placed the tip of one long, thick finger on it and slid it toward me. “Sometimes I can’t be reached on my cell. Call here, they’ll know how to get hold of me if it’s urgent.”

“I don’t need it,” I said, sliding it back toward him, my pulse speeding up and my hands getting sweaty for some weird reason.

“Keep it anyway.” Then with that, he turned and strode across my kitchen, down the hall, and out the door, pulling it shut softly behind him.

Before I knew I was going to do it, I was rushing to the dark living room and peering out the lace curtains, watching as he swung a long leg over his Harley and fired it to life. He eased out onto the street and a few seconds later, he was gone.

I made my way back to the kitchen, and annoyingly, unable to control my curiosity, picked up the plain white card with black writing printed on it.

The King Agency was in bold. I scanned the rest. Jude Wayland, P.I.

He was a private investigator.

I had no idea. If the guy wanted to know my story, I doubted he’d have any trouble finding out. But why would he? He had no grounds to go ferreting through my shitty background. I’d been nothing but a model tenant since I moved in. One late night douchebag banging on my door shouldn’t spark his curiosity over me and Tilly that much.

I hoped not anyway. If he found out my brother-in-law was an ex-con and a known dealer and user, our number would be up and we’d be out of here. We’d lose this sweet apartment, I had no doubt.

As I got ready for bed, I did my best to push my burly, nosey, graze-tending landlord from my mind, and after making sure the house was locked up tight and the security system was activated, I climbed into bed beside Tilly, snuggling in close to her.

This was all I needed.