Page 67 of Ruthless Protector

“Woman, you have no idea.”

My belly heated, zaps of pleasure making me suck in a sharp breath.

“I heard that,” he said. “That little hitch. Christ, that’s hot, beautiful.”

My breathing was erratic now. “When will I see you again?” As soon as the words passed my lips, I winced. How many times had I heard Rebecca say that to Trent. My mother to my father, right after he left, and he was still taking her calls.

Evan, when we were first seeing each other, and I thought he was the only escape from my shitty life. That having a man, a good man, was my way to freedom. Only he hadn’t been a good man. He’d been a coward and a liar.

“Two…maybe three days, tops.”

My mind instantly threw up a warning. Don’t trust him. Don’t let him get too close. He’s only using you.

But I knew that wasn’t true. Jude was nothing like the men I’d known. There was no resemblance between them. So, I ignored the scared, hurt, and angry part of me that was always there, the part telling me to push him away hard and fast, and said, “Will you share the plans you had for us with me then?”

“Repeatedly,” he said, then released a long breath that was far from steady. “Fuck, this sucks.”

I chuckled at how disgruntled he sounded.

“Are you laughing at me?” he said.

“No,” I said, laughter clear in my voice.

“You are so gonna pay for that.”

A sexy shiver moved through me. “Oh?”

“Maybe that fine ass of yours needs a little spanking. Let’s see how wet that gets you before I fuck you next time.”

Christ. I squeezed my legs together. “Only one way to find out.”

Jude cursed again. “You home tonight?”

I grinned. “Yes.”

“Good, I’ll call you later to discuss this more.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

He was quiet a beat. “Promise me you’ll stay safe,” he said.

“Will do.”

I was doing the dishes a little while later, and still smiling to myself, when my phone started ringing. Maybe Jude had a moment and wanted to get started on our discussion early?

I quickly dried off my hands and answered. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”

Silence. “Is this Willa Hartley?”

It was a woman’s voice, one I didn’t recognize. “Who’s asking?”

“Sorry, this is Karen Langley from Child Protective Services. Is this a good time to talk?”

I stood as still as a statue, several long seconds ticking by, while my mind raced with a million different reasons why this woman would be calling, coming back to and rejecting the same one over and over, the one that involved Trent.

“Are you there, Ms. Hartley?”

I jolted. “Yes, ah, sorry, yes I’m here.”