Page 26 of Her UnBearable Protector

Natale didn’t have time to worry how he’d found her, she was only grateful that he had.

She wasn’t the only one who saw Salvatore. The man holding the gun looked torn between running away and pulling the trigger. Natale flinched, raising her arms up in a ridiculous attempt to ward off the bullet just as she heard a shout that echoed off the stone walls of the pathway.

She was sure that she was going to be dead before Salvatore could get close enough to help, but he was drawing closer as if every one of her seconds was half a dozen for him. As time moved by in a crawl, Natale had a moment of clarity.

If she lived through this crazy moment… If she managed not to die in the middle of Central Park, she was going to kiss Salvatore Orsino until one of them was weak in the knees and begging. Okay, she was sure it was going to be her that was doing both.

But a man with a gun was standing between her and the opportunity to make a huge fool out of herself, so there was that little silver lining.

She saw the moment he got up the courage to kill her, saw the tightening of the skin around his eyes and quick indrawn breath that filled his lungs. People said that designers would cut you, but this was a completely different situation. Designers wanted to cut into your sales, this man wanted her bleeding on the pavement.

Natale didn’t want to see it coming, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much that way, but she couldn’t seem to look away from Salvatore.

His eyes looked like black glass, staring right through her. And the arm that reached out wasn’t the tanned perfection she’d been treated to in her apartment, it seemed thicker, rougher, as if the skin had an added layer of muscle.

“Watch out!” The words blurted from her lips and the man hesitated, choosing that moment to stand his ground.

He didn’t know that the warning was for him.

And a moment later it didn’t matter.

Salvatore was on him.

No, not just on him. Salvatore’s arm was through him in a sickening rip of flesh and snap of bone. And the gun fell from twitching fingers as claws curled through the ruined flesh of his chest.

A moment later the claw was gone, receding through his ruined body. The man who had attacked her, slumped down to the path in a heavy slide of sound.

She wanted to run.

She wanted to scream.

She was sure she’d gone stark raving mad, but as she watched Salvatore pick up the man’s lifeless body and toss it into the bushes beside the path, all she could do was stare and try to force her brain to function. To force enough air into her lungs to speak. “How?” she wondered. “How did you-” and there were a thousand ways she wanted to end the question, but she couldn’t seem to form a complete thought.

Salvatore had his phone out and in his hand, yes, thank goodness it was a hand, and he was speaking in rapid fire Italian. A feeling rolled through her body that was hot and cold at the same time, as if it couldn't decide whether she should throw up or faint dead away. She wasn't sure which one would be less embarrassing, but then her mind focused on something else entirely. No, someone else.

Where Salvatore was standing, the castoff of light from the aging streetlamp seemed to gild his silhouette with a pale scrape of gold.

She was stuck there, unable to move and yet if she could have, she wanted to throw herself at him, all six-foot-four, built-like-a-bear and- wait.

Her gaze flickered up, focused on his face, a second before he turned and looked straight at her.

Natale wondered if he could hear her heart thundering in her chest, or the shallow pants of breath escaping past her parted lips.

She wanted him. That thought was clear enough to her addled brain. She didn't want to just kiss him senseless, although she was damn sure that it was all from the rush of adrenaline, she wanted to wrap her arms around him as far as she could reach. She wanted him naked and sweating in her bed.

She wanted him over her, under her, in her. Now.

She had never felt like that about anyone. She’d learned a long time ago to turn that part of herself ‘off.’ It never seemed to work out, or rather, men never seemed to take a relationship with her seriously, especially not sex.

And yet, there was this man. This man who her father had asked to protect her, but a man who treated her like she was the answer to everything he’s been looking for. And then held her at arm’s length. And that was still knocking her for a loop.

“Salvatore?”

His conversation ended, and the phone disappeared from his hand like a slight of hand trick. His eyes were dark, but not black as they'd been a few moments before, but they were dark enough to tell her what he was thinking. He was watching her the way her father watched Caprice to see if she would have a tantrum over the fabric choices, like there was a ticking time bomb in his hand and he was fairly sure it was primed and ready to blow.

“Natale.” His voice was a caress and she almost leaned into it, wondering if she would be able to feel it against her cheek. “Come.”

Natale didn't argue. One doesn't argue with a man who could rip open a man’s chest. She started to walk to him, her legs shaking with the aftermath of what she’d witnessed. Salvatore closed the distance between them and bent slightly at the waist. A moment later she was draped over his shoulder, his muscular arm holding her securely over the backs of her thighs.

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