Page 44 of Taming Achilles

“Pip,” Geordie said, cupping my face. “For God’s sake, look at me, Pippa. Pip?”

He was taking off his belt. Was he going to fuck me right here on the runway? I don’t think I’d mind if he did.

Wetness was coming down my thigh. I saw stars in the corner of my eyes but nothing was as beautiful as him. His face. My Geo.

I brought up a hand to tuck a strand of his rough, thick, wavy hair from his brow. There was a glint on my finger. I looked at it, confused about how it got there.

I looked down at his body where a red pool was starting at his shoulder.

“You’re bleeding.” I whispered, my brow creasing, anger bubbling inside me. “Who hurt you?”

“God, you hit your head,” he said, caressing my face. “I took you down too hard.”

“I love this ring.” I stared at the shiny stone. A hundred little diamonds peppered the three exposed sides of the band, and it was raised, shaped like the Rialto bridge. “But I thought I left it in Venice.”

My head hurt. It was throbbing in my temples.

“Stay with me, Pip,” I heard him say. “Stay with me. Please.”

“Why do I have it? I should give it back.” I went to remove the ring but I was so tired. So very tired.

I tried to pull it off my left hand but my ring wasn’t moving. My right arm was too heavy.

“I’ll take it off tomorrow.”

Chapter 21

Geordie

Fuck. I knew it. I felt it as soon as she started walking down the aisle. No. Not an aisle. A runway.

Dread seeped through me as I watched her beautiful backside slinking away. The low back of the bridal gown emphasised the hourglass of her sensual curves. She’d make a gorgeous bride. My bride.

I had been in hospital too many times, waiting for someone I cared about to open their eyes. The beeps of her heart rate monitor did nothing to quell my fears. She was so still. Like a statue.

The bullet had grazed my bicep, and all I could think of was getting to her. Protecting her.

I covered her with my body and she had fallen, her unsteady stilettos caving under her weight and mine. Her head struck the runway with a sickening crack as three bullets whizzed by. Three distinct cracks. One tore through the meaty flesh of my bicep. The other two? I wasn’t sure where they landed. I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was placing myself between the shooter and Pippa.

They stitched and cleaned my arm, hit me with some anaesthetic and sent me on my way. But she hit her head on the way down, and fell unconscious.

She was so pale. So beautiful. Like Sleeping Beauty.

She’d hate that analogy. Sleeping Beauty wasn’t woken with a kiss. The real story was much darker, but maybe it was well suited, after what I had done to her.

“Cal is on his way back,” Hugo said, handing me a coffee. “So is Alastair.”

“Why?” I asked, quietly, taking the coffee from his hand.

“Because it’s protocol that everyone knows if someone on the team gets hurt,” Hugo said flatly, nodding at my bandaged arm, then looking at Pippa. “You’ll have some explaining to do.”

That was the understatement of the century.

I was fucking Cal’s former fiancé in our shared apartment, exchanging sexual payment for protection, and doing a crap job at the latter. Now I had put a ring on her finger and I’d be damned if I ever let her take it off.

I wiped a palm over my face, then shook my head.

It was time to come clean. Even if it meant taking Cal’s fist to my face.

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