Page 7 of Her UnBearable Protector

“I need to know-”

She licked her lips and took a long deep breath in. “Yes?”

“Where do you want me to sleep?”

“Sleep?” She heard her voice squeak out of her throat. “Aren't you leaving?”

He leaned closer, his hands latching onto her upper arms. “I’m not leaving you.”

She shook herself, but he didn't let go. “You got me home safe,” she agreed, “but we have good security in the building. I can give your name to the doorman and he can let you up in the morning.”

“I'm not leaving you. My brother will arrive some time tonight-”

“Wait, what? Two of you?” She pulled away and put some distance between them. “You can't-”

“Uberto will be staying at our home in the city,” he explained, “but I'm going to be with you every step of the way.”

“Until the show,” she added on for him. “you mean you're going to be with me until the show.”

“As long as you need me.” He kept his tone level, but she knew there was something behind his words. She wanted to ask him again, but she was sure that he wasn't going to reveal anything more.

And she was too tired to argue.

“Fine.”

His eyes darkened again and she laughed, a soft embarrassed chuckle. She was sure she was hallucinating, but she was hoping she’d manage to enjoy it while it lasted. She needed more sleep, that was it. Right?

Before she could say a word, her stomach growled. Not in a cute little gurgle of sound. No, her stomach made its stance very clear. It was empty and not happy about it.

Instead of curling up his lip in distaste like some might, Salvatore's manner changed again, softening as he smiled at her.

“You need to eat.”

She laughed in reply, her mood lightening in an instant. “Now that,” she declared, “I won't argue with.”

Moving toward the kitchen she headed straight for the counter and the drawer of delivery menus. She took out a small stack at the top of the drawer and spread them out on the laminate counter.

Salvatore stepped up at her side and eyed the selection with a grimace that he didn't even try to disguise. “Is that what you eat?”

She didn't even try to disguise her pointed look. “I get home and I'm wiped out. It's that or a box of puffy wheats and milk that I'm sure is probably curds by now.” She heard his silence like klaxons in the room. “So, I take it that you don’t want to go in on some egg fu yung from Mr. Chow?”

Now it was his turn to grimace again. “Not likely.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Then we are at a classic impasse. What do you propose we do, Mr. Orsino?”

Reaching for his phone where it was clipped on his belt, she saw the butt of a handgun visible beneath his coat and she was again reminded why he was in her apartment in the first place. Sobered, she watched him turn on his phone and swipe open an app.

With a low guttural voice command the phone began to ring.

A few repeats of the chime and the call was answered, calling Salvatore by name and with a smile in their tone. She listened in rapt awe as he ordered, some words in English and some in Italian. She couldn't catch all of it, some of her Italian was rusty having grown up in America, but she knew enough to hear the quantities that he was ordering. When Salvatore gave the man her address from memory and hung up, she reached out and poked him in the shoulder.

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at her hand, and then her face. “What was that?”

“That,” she echoed back, “was a lot of food you just ordered. Make sure your brother brings a cooler so you can take it back to your place.”

“That was hardly enough for a few days, and I only ordered that because we’ll be at your workroom for a good portion of the time.”

She gaped at him, that was all she could do.

---