Page 61 of Reluctantly His

Finally, I lowered her to her feet and placed her before me. Grasping her chin, I tilted her head back. “You’re going to be a good girl for me and follow quickly and quietly.”

“But—”

I placed a finger over her lips. “Emphasis on quietly.”

Her lips moved against my finger with her frustrated sigh. “This is crazy. I can’t just leave.”

The corner of my mouth lifted as I winked. “Technically, you’re not leaving. You’re being kidnapped.”

The key to not getting stopped was to stare straight ahead, not make eye contact, and walk with a determined purpose.

In less than ten minutes, I had Charlotte in my truck. I wasn’t taking her to the safe house or even back to the Manwarring estate.

I was taking her home.

Charlotte was silent the entire trip.

Even when I pulled into the underground parking garage of my building.

It wasn’t until I opened her door and helped her out that she started asking questions.

“Where are we?”

“I am taking you to my apartment, where it is safe, and you can be alone and unbothered for a bit,” I said, taking her hand and leading her to the elevator.

“Where are we?” she asked again as the shock began to settle in.

Her body pressed against mine as I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and held her close.

When we got to my apartment, I opened the door to the simple one bed, one bath, with a small kitchenette space. Truth was, I didn’t need a large space because I spent little time cooped up here. At least it was clean.

Fortunately, the curtains were all closed, not that it would have made a difference. But if they were open, she would have seen the bare brick of the building next to this one not less than a foot away. Far from the sweeping views of Central Park she was used to from her own large bay bedroom windows.

“This is where you live?” she asked, walking around, looking at my Ikea furniture and bare tabletops.

“Yes, when I am in the city. This is where I call home. I’m not here very much, but it’s good enough.”

“Okay…”

I could see the wheels spinning in her head, and for some reason I refused to put my finger on, I wanted her to feel at home here, too. I wanted her to like it.

“I like it. It’s cozy,” she said, sitting on the very edge of the sofa, her ankles crossed demurely under her as if she were preparing to be served afternoon tea during a friendly visit, instead of sitting before me in a blood, splattered mock wedding gown.

She really was a lady. A sweet, innocent girl that had been far too sheltered for far too long.

“You want to tell me what happened” I asked as I tossed my tuxedo jacket over a chair and pulled on my bowtie.

She played with the tulle fabric folds in her lap. “Not much to tell. I said something that made him angry. So he slapped me.”

I inhaled slowly through my nose as the rage rose again in my blood.

Maybe I should have killed the bastard.

Unbuttoning my cuffs before pulling the tail of my shirt out of my pants, I asked, “What’d you say that set him off so badly?”

She looked up at me through a shock of tangled curls, her neat chignon from earlier hanging lopsided and adorably ruined.

When she told me what she’d said, I threw my head back and laughed. “That’s my girl.”

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