Page 6 of Hidden By His Side

Sweat beaded on the soon-to-be dead asshole’s face as Ramiro stalked toward him.

The knife pressed harder into Summer’s neck. “I mean it, stay back!”

A drop of blood slid down her throat, and Ramiro froze, his body vibrating.

The man with his filthy hands on Summer sneered, like he didn’t realize his life was down to seconds. He wasn’t anyone Ramiro recognized, but that didn’t even matter.

The fear in Summer’s eyes was all that mattered.

Ramiro held her gaze, watching the panic fade from it as she focused on him.

“The Guzmans wanted to get your attention,” the asshole taunted, rubbing his face against Summer’s hair. “Fuck, she smells sweet.”

The knife lifted from her skin when the asshole took a deeper breath.

Ramiro lunged, his hand closing around the man’s wrist, jerking it away from Summer’s throat. He twisted his grip and plunged the knife into the asshole’s neck.

A shocked gurgle followed the man as he crumpled to the carpet.

Ramiro pulled Summer into his body, and she burrowed her face into his chest, his suit muffling her sob.

“I’ve got you.” He swept her up in his arms, carrying her into his office and settling in one of the chairs with her still in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

Her body shook against his, and he pulled her in tighter, trying to absorb her shudders.

“You’re okay, baby girl. No one’s gonna hurt you. I won’t let them.”

Her breath hitched, and her fingers tightened on his jacket. She lifted her head. The sight of her tears made his throat close.

“You called me ‘baby girl.’” The words were a husky whisper. “You never do that anymore.”

His hand looked big as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking to dry the path of her tears, hoping more wouldn’t follow. “Sorry. It just slipped out.”

“I liked it,” Summer said, sending a bolt inside his stomach. She fell forward again, her face pressed against his neck this time. “Makes me feel safe.”

“You are safe,” he murmured, but guilt twisted inside his chest. The Guzmans ran the cartel. It had been months since one of his men had slaughtered a group of theirs. He’d expected retaliation, but when none came, he’d assumed they’d taken the bodies as a message not to fuck with him or his men.

The message must have worn off.

“He surprised me,” she mumbled, her breathing still uneven.

“I know.” His hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers brushing over her hair. The asshole had dared to touch her. Ramiro needed to wipe any trace of that touch away.

“I really hate surprises,” Summer muttered into his shirt.

Ramiro snorted. “There’s my organized and structured girl.”

She let out her own soft laugh, her hands easing their death grip on his clothes. She began stroking over his chest instead. “You like that I keep things neat and tidy.”

“I do,” he admitted. Though, if she’d been a storm of chaos, he would have liked that too. He just liked her, and he really liked her touching him.

He cut the thought off before it could stir his ever-hovering need into existence.

Holding her should have reminded him of the night they’d met, and he tried to remember that feeling, the one where he only wanted to protect her. He still wanted her safe, but having her in his arms highlighted all the ways she’d changed. Her frail, thin body was no more. She was round and curved and soft under his hands. Summer was a woman, one he’d been noticing for far too long.

All his careful avoidance from touching her was blown away in an instant.

Her hand firmed, pushing her body up so she could look at him. Her lips were close, too close, and he wanted to groan with how hard it was not to close those few inches.

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