Page 24 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

“I will kill you if you don’t get the fuck out of my sight,” I grate, and he scrambles on all fours, staggering and gasping for air as he runs away. Blood leaving a trail mark on the pavement, and I fight the predatory urge inside of me to go after him.

I reach into the pocket of my pants and pull out a white handkerchief, scowling at the blood on my knuckles, some of which might be mine. I wipe my hands enough to tone down the mark of violence on them, my body shivering because of the adrenaline, not wanting to face her eyes.

Will she look at me like my mother did?

What will I find when I turn to her?

The same questioning eyes as her father’s or the judging look of my mother?

I grip the handkerchief like an anchor and turn to find wide, electrifying eyes weaving a shockwave of care and endearment into my bones.

“Eva,” I take the first step towards her, unsure what my next words will be but wanting desperately to make her see me, as a good man, as far-fetched as I know that is. She knows that too, but a man can fucking dream, can he not?

Her breathing is a little staggering and I know she might be close to having an episode where she becomes frantic.

I take longer strides towards her, closing the distance. “I am sorry,” I cradle her face with my blood-sticky hands. “Breathe,” I command.

She presses her body into mine, both our hearts beating frantically for different reasons. Mine from the fear that I might have broken her and hers for only God knows what.

“What…” she gasps. “Are you…” she blinks, and I stroke her cheeks tenderly with my thumbs, painting her with residual blood like a victory mark.

In a flash, shetilts up, wrapping her arms around my neckto bring me up to her level, and kissesme.

The kiss is as timid as the giver. Mild, with her tongue teasing my lips. I want to savor the kiss, but instead of getting sucked in, life and reality startle me—a painful reality.

I'm not what she wants. She wasn’t ready for me, for us. She wanted him, and who'sto say she won't goback to him if he apologizes? One of the reasons I ought to have killed him was to protect myself from that kind of suffering.

“Eva,” I draw back.

“I am sorry,” she chuckles nervously. “I thought…” she pulls back, but it is my turn to hold firm, keeping her close and making sure she sees that she has nothing to be fucking sorry for.

I want to kiss her. I want to touch her. Maybe bite a little and see if it is something she fancies. I want to worship her flawless skin. Bury my head between every crevice of hers and my tongue in every hole that will make her scream with pleasure. Scream my name.

I want to do so many fucking things to her. I bite my lower lip and rein the thoughts in. I should not be thinking of things that strain my fucking cock.

“You wanted him, not me,” I say. “You weren’t ready for us, for any of this.”

“God, Fabio,” she slaps my hands away and slaps her forehead in frustration as she rasps, pacing in a short circuit back and forth. She stops, placing both hands on her hips. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I do,” I shrug, but she is unto me, a small smack on my chest with both her hands.

“You don’t,” she grunts, a flicker of her father’s vexation in her demeanor. “If you did, you wouldn’t ever say that. It was a show!” She throws both hands in the air. “A fucking show,” the cuss word strange coming from her. “I don’t know the guy. I saw him in class, and he looked like the perfect fit to get you jealous,” she wanders away from me.

“Eva,” I go after her, pulling her by the wrists, but she shrugs away. I can clasp my hand and keep her imprisoned, but there is something that makes me too weak to exert any firmness around her half the fucking time.

She scoffs, shaking her head. Make me jealous? That one worked. But why? Why would she want to make me jealous? She said she never wanted me. She said she didn’t want this.

“He was supposed to make you jealous because I wanted you to fight for me, to show me you want me as much as I want you,” she whisks to face me. “I wanted you to be the man and come after me like I have seen you do with every other thing that is of importance to you,” she says, looking at me with her fists balling by her sides. “I want you, Fabio De Luca. I want to marry you, but you…”

“What?” I intersect.

“You seemed like…”

“Bullshit,” I am in her face, dipping my head so our noses skim, so my breath purrs on the curve of her upper lip. “Who in their fucking right senses wouldn’t want to marry you?” I am not letting my mind think about the words of confession I have just heard. Words making my heart sprint.

She wants me. She did it all for me. She wants to marry me. She feels something for me.

My heart attempts a leap, and I bite down on my teeth to keep it in place.

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