Page 50 of Her Faithful Protector

AVA

Rays of morning sunlight filter through the slender gaps behind the curtain. I stretch my body languidly, savoring the comfort of the bed, but the absence of Jack’s warmth beside me jolts me awake. Anticipating a cuddle and the possibility of continuing where we left off last night, I ponder what he could be doing.

I hear the water running; it’s from the bathroom next door. I think my man is in there. I rise from my spot, making my way to check on Quinton in his crib. My baby is still peacefully asleep, a true miracle, considering he only woke up once during the night.

“You have my heart. Do you know that?” I whisper. Despite knowing I might wake him, I can’t resist rubbing his chest.

The door creaks open, revealing Jack as he enters the room with careful, tiptoeing steps. Outside, the wooden floor groans under the weight of Huxley’s footsteps, muffled but still audible. I can smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, evidence of Huxley’s attempt at silence.

A smile spreads across my face as I take in Jack’s appearance. His body, clad only in boxers, pulls me in like a lure. Hishair glistens with dampness, his face fresh as if he has just splashed water all over himself. And oh, those abs, they shimmer in the soft light, rendering me weak. It has only been a few days since his arrival, but the military grooming has given way to a thickening beard. I also notice a trail of hairs leading down to his crotch, an enticing invitation.

He comes closer, his lips meeting mine in a light kiss, a smile directed toward Quinton. “I can’t believe how cute he is,” Jack whispers.

“I can’t either.” I follow his gaze, watching the little boy puckering in his sleep. “Every time I look at him, I tell myself I want another one. And you know what? If I have another one, I will say the same thing.”

His arm encircles my hip, his hand playfully pinching my ass. Perhaps there is still time for a cuddle and maybe even more in bed. But his breathing reveals a hint of exertion, as if he has been running.

“Hey, don’t get all serious about what I just said, okay? I’m not trying to drop hints or anything,” I murmur. But he hitches as if trying too hard to steady his breathing. I place a hand on his cheek. “You okay?”

He rubs the small of my back, grumbling, “I’m fine.”

Slowly my hand lands on his back. As I prepare to give it a comforting rub, my touch arrives at the bump between his shoulder blades. He jerks his back, his usual reaction. Among other things that happened, I never asked about it. Slanting back, I position myself to get a clearer view. “This is a long scar.” I brush a finger along it.

“I don’t know how I got it. For sure, I didn’t have it before the abduction,” he confesses, his face reflecting a mix of contemplation and deliberate avoidance. He then drives my hand away, adding, “Can we not talk about it, please?”

I know it’s more than just a scar for him. Last night, in thetwilight between sleep and wakefulness, he asked me if I saw him as a broken man. Exhausted and sated, my response was casual—I’m a sucker for broken men. Perfect men never attract me. Perfect can mean either dull or pretentious. Jack carries his fair share of baggage, and he may be right in calling himself broken. But it’s through those cracks in his armor that I connect with him, and I hope to be the glue that binds his shattered pieces together.

Catching my sidelong glance, he nags, “Stop looking at it, Ava.”

Seeing his pleading eyes, I know now is not the right time to unearth what he’s been concealing. It’s not just from me, but from himself as well. It’s not a secret. It’s a pain that he’s not ready to confront yet.

“How about this?” I point at a brown patch located on his left shoulder. It’s no bigger than the ‘press here’ sticker on a talking teddy you’d see in Target.

Glancing at the spot, he asks with a light tone, “What do you want to know? It’s just a birthmark.”

“It looks like a rabbit.”

He responds with a soft giggle. “That’s what other people say. Where’s your creativity?”

I scrunch up my nose. “How about a jackrabbit?”

“Smarty pants!” He pinches my nose.

I rub the mark, imagining drawing it. “Actually, I think it looks like Elmo.”

He breaks into laughter, his face lighting up. “How?”

“If you stretch his ears up, his silhouette will look like this.” I trail my finger, forming a circle around the mark that looks more like a temporary tattoo. A cute one.

Amusement weaves into his expression. “Okay, let’s settle with Elmo then.”

He grazes the curls at my nape, playfully tickling me. Adeep exhale escapes his lips, producing a seductive sound as if his Adam’s apple is aroused—if that’s even possible. And seriously, what am I supposed to do with the manly smell coming from that tiny space between his lips?

He’s about to turn, probably to get dressed, but I don’t give him a chance. Not after that testosterone-ridden breath.

I guide him back onto the soft sheets of the bed, my lips forming a mischievous smirk, my eyes silently conveying—I want you. He inches closer, and I steal a kiss from his lips, sucking that intoxicating air off him. My fingers shamelessly trace the contours of his abs, then venture lower.

“What’s that look?” Jack asks.

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