Page 59 of My Forbidden Boss

A frown forms on his brow. Deepens until a valley appears between his brows. “Why what, love?”

I want to keep the words to myself. I try to stop them from falling, but they have a mind of their own, weighty and filled with the need to know. They push past my lips before I catch them and all I can do is watch comprehension draw across David’s face as I say, “Why did you do that?”

Chapter 22

David

A single tear falls from the corner of her eye. I collect it with my thumb before it streaks down her smooth cheek. She’s barely holding it together, eyes brimming, forehead lined and quaking in my arms, but it’s the only tear she sheds.

She really doesn’t understand why I came to her aid.

“Love —”

She stiffens in my arms, draws back, but I don’t let her out of the cage. I’ve missed her there and I’ll hold on to her as long as I can. “They attacked you.”

She shakes her head as though she’s dislodging a thought and she squeezes her eyes shut. “It doesn’t matter.”

A jolt goes through my body. It doesn’t matter? I work hard not to yell, to keep the disturbing mix of my emotions in check.

How could it not matter? “He had no right to lay his hands on you. He’s lucky I didn’t rip his head off.”

I’d rip his body apart if I could. I’d have taken the asshole out with my car if he hadn’t had Adeline is his grip. My heart is still pounding in my throat, my mind seared with her being attacked by two men, head and shoulders taller than her. They’d been rough with her. Intimidating. They weren’t out just to steal from her. They were dragging her off the sidewalk and out of the way to do much worse than that. Between the two of them, she’d been powerless to stop them.

Something is missing from her reaction. She should be angry. Pissed off. Terrified. Yelling. Demanding the police track them down, but instead she’s…accepting. “Why aren’t you angry?”

She glances up at me, brows flicking up like she’s goddamned surprised. “I…” She swallows hard. Looks at the ground. Her feet. The upturned suitcase. Anywhere but me, which is exactly where I want her attention to be. “I need to pick up my clothes.”

She breaks free of my hold because I’m that surprised.

“Here. Let me.” I bend to grab her battered case.

“I can do it,” she says.

I take the case from her after a battle of wills and make short work of repacking it. There aren’t many clothes. Some garments show signs of wear, although what she has still looks in good condition. The clothes that are new are slightly out of fashion. They’re dirty and I have a plan. I close the clasps and hold the case, keeping it away from her when she goes to take it back.

“I can look after myself,” she says, tilting her chin. Now I understand her better, the gesture is more defensive than offensive. She’s preparing herself, expecting a fight, uncomfortable because I’ve helped her. Covering her vulnerability behind combativeness.

“I know you can, love.” She’s years beyond her age. So experienced in life that being attacked hasn’t rattled her into insensibility.

She falters. Her fists clench and unclench. She shifts. Unsure.

“Adeline…” I want her to tell me what’s going on behind those beautiful, sad eyes, but she won’t.

“Shall we go? We can’t be late to the airport,” she says.

“You’re shaken up. We’ll catch another flight,” I say. I’ll charter a flight if I must, but we’re going nowhere if she’s not ready. I’m happy to bundle her in my car, take her back home and rip apart the barriers she’s worked hard to keep between us all week.

She collects herself as she fills her lungs and I frown. Her face irons out. More hiding. Burying herself in front of my eyes. I’m not looking at barriers. I’m looking at bank vault doors slammed shut in my face and set on a timer to be opened in a century. “I’m fine.”

That’s a lie. ‘Fine’ is not ‘fine’. It’s a bland word used to fend off genuine concern. I’d have fallen into that trap if I hadn’t used that term myself on many occasions when life got rough.

“I’ll do whatever I need to keep you safe, Adeline. I’ll fight ten men. Twenty. They can lay into me as much as they want as long as they don’t lay a finger on you,” I say.

“I don’t want you to,” she says. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know. But I’ll do it anyway. You never need to ask,” I say.

I need to be smarter about this. Vault doors won’t open with force, otherwise the contents inside will be destroyed. The locks need to be listened to; gears carefully adjusted until the complex combination clicks into place. Then the door will open willingly and bare everything inside with a welcome smile.

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