Page 33 of Under His Protection

It was wrong of me to ever let her get near danger, and I loathed that she had been touched at all.

“I will do better, Nina,” I said as I drove myself home after leaving my men to dispose of the bodies. “I will.” She deserved the best, and if it meant managing a better balance between my business expectations and seeing to her comfort, I would do it.

While I killed those men, though, I recognized my other error. It was a fool’s errand thinking Nina and I could make this fake relationship believable without it impacting us.

I wanted her. I wanted to make her feel safe and secure just the same as I longed to pleasure her and push her to bliss.

All of it. I desired her more than I should, and as I arrived at the house and hurried to find her, I wondered how long I could deny myself—and her.

“Nina?” I knocked but didn’t wait for her reply before opening her door. She never locked it, and I took it as another sign of her innocence and willingness to accommodate me here. She was a guest but felt like so much more.

“Nina? I—” I stopped short, finding her in the bathroom attached to her guest suite.

There she was, wearing a top and short shorts as her body shook at the large vanity. Scrubbing something lying on the long counter, she mumbled to herself quietly, oblivious that I’d come in.

“Nina.”

She startled, turning around partly with a gasp. “Oh! Dante.”

I huffed a little laugh. Expecting someone else?

I didn’t miss how she glanced at my hands, likely expecting them to be bloody.

“Are you all right?”

Her reply was a shrug. She turned back to the counter and resumed scrubbing. “Yeah, sure. They didn’t actually…”

“Don’t downplay it,” I warned her as I walked up to her.

“I’m not. I’m just saying they didn’t really touch me or do anything. Romeo walked by before they could. And you.” She frowned, soaking a small cloth again.

Wet smears showed on the fabric, and with the redder spots in the middle of the area, it was clear that she was trying to remove a blood stain.

Whose?

I laid my hand on hers, ceasing her frantic attempt to clean the material. She slowly lifted her gaze to me, and with that move, she turned toward me. It gave me a chance to see her torso. The tank top she’d put on was cut low enough that I saw the small scrape on her chest. A faint mark showed on her cheek, too, and the visuals of her in any kind of pain renewed the anger that had started to dissipate when I killed the men who’d touched her.

“It’s not bad,” she said.

“I told you.” I lowered my fingers to tip her chin up, taking in the full, clear sight of her scrapes. She didn’t flinch or shy away, letting me see. “Any mark on you is a crime.”

She’d showered. The steam hung in the air yet, and her hair was still damp, lying in a sexy mess over her shoulders and down her back. The cuts were cleaned, but I wished they could be erased altogether.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. This isn’t your fault.”

I cleared my throat and shoved the dress aside. Before she could reach for it, I picked her up and set her on the edge of the counter.

“Wait.” She stretched her hand out toward it, but I didn’t let her take it. “I can clean that out and sew the strap and it’ll be as good as new.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, determined not to humor her with a smile. This adorable woman. She wanted to repair the damn gown and make sure it still had value?

“Why?”

“Well, I could resell it for a lot of money. It’s a waste to just throw it away.”

I sighed, sliding the first-aid kit closer. She must have set it out but had prioritized cleaning and salvaging the dress over seeing to her wounds. I knew she wasn’t materialistic, but her words and scrappiness endeared her to me.

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