Page 5 of Protecting Mr. Fine

I hadn’t even felt the stamp this time. The best I could tell, it had happened when I’d been jostled to the side by a stage tech rushing past during the set break. Immediately afterward, Carlo and Kim, the makeup and hair duo, had stepped forward for a quick touch-up, and Kim had quirked her head and asked why I had red ink under the collar of my shirt.

There hadn’t been time for the words to even sink in until I’d taken the stage. But there, in front of the hometown Atlanta crowd at the Shaky Knees festival, I’d realized what she meant.

I’d been marked with another red bull’s-eye.

Another target.

Another time someone had proven they could get to me by pressing a tiny rubber stamp onto my skin with permanent ink.

As soon as I’d realized what had happened, I hadn’t been able to help glancing over at the wings. My tall, heavily muscled bodyguard—the man I’d begun callingBeara few months ago to tease him and even startedthinkingof as Bear for… other reasons—had been waylaid by my petite former publicist. Noelle had tried several times to speak to me, but Bear had made it his personal mission to keep her away, especially since I was due onstage.

When he’d seen my face, he’d known immediately that something serious had happened. Bear always had the ability to see through my attempts at hiding my emotions… and it drove me up a wall.

He’d already taken a large stride in my direction before someone stopped him, gesturing wildly to the tape on the ground indicating the sight line for the backstage area. Bear’s square jaw had flexed, his brown eyes had darkened, and he’d practically bared his teeth at the poor stage manager. I’d forced myself to look ahead into the tens of thousands of screaming fans. The crowd here in the park was pumped, the weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun had been setting in golden peaches and pinks across the concert venue.

It would have been glorious…

If only I hadn’t been ice-cold inside.

Thankfully, the set had gone by fast with all of that energy. I’d allowed myself to get lost in the music, to let it comfort me and help me forget my troubles, as it always did.

At least until I came off the stage and Bear yanked me past everyone into the dressing room before demanding, “What.”

It wasn’t a question but a command, and it cracked the icy, calm blanket I’d pulled around myself to get through my set. My hands shook, and my skin began to tingle as the reality of the situation sank in. How ridiculous was it that I hadn’t started trembling until Bear was with me and I’d known I was safe?

“It’s fine,” I said automatically. “Really, Bear. F-fine.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “I think…” I gestured to the collar of my shirt. “Um… behind… over my…”

He stepped behind me and pulled at my collar. When he sucked in an outraged breath, it made it all real. My legs wobbled, and his arm banded around my front. The strong warmth of his touch never failed to make my breath catch, which caused my head to feel even floatier.

I hated feeling weak, hated causing concern and more work for others. And I especially hated the idea of Bear thinking I was some kind of fragile diva who needed protecting from the big, scary world.

So I shoved him away and took a breath. “I told you, it’s fine.”

“Say that word to me again,” he said in a low voice. “I dare you.”

I closed my eyes and tried to focus. “I mean to say, I’m not hurt.”

Bear made a grumbling noise that suggested he’d be the judge of that. “Take off your shirt.”

A huff of humorless laughter came out of my nose. I’d fantasized about Bear saying that many, many times in the past year. Fantasies in which he’d growled exactly that phrase, among many others, with the same ferocity.

Never had I imagined it would carry so little lust.

Instead of arguing with him—which I knew would be pointless—I yanked off my sweaty tee and dropped it over a nearby chair. I kept my back to him so he could investigate the stamp, but I watched him in the dressing room mirror.

His face was a full storm. A hurricane band swirling around and around, picking up strength as it circled. His large hands came up to hold my shoulders, one thumb smoothing the patch of skin just over my shoulder and out of my own sight range.

“Is it the same?” I asked softly, trying to ignore my prickling awareness of his gentle touch.

He grunted confirmation.

Silence filled the room with jagged tension beforehe spoke. “This is the third time, Zane. We can’t keep ignoring this. We need to get back to LA and call in reinforcements?—”

“No,” I said emphatically. “No way. We’re due in Barlo tomorrow morning to see my family for a few days. Ipromisedthem. And I’m not canceling it.”

---