Page 87 of Guarded from Treachery

Though I’m loath to let her go, I need to check her more closely. So I hold onto her shoulders and gently set her away from me for a second. I scan her body, searching for any evidence of injury as I ask, “Are you hurt anywhere, Isles? Did they touch you? Are you having any cramping? Any pain?”

Isla’s watery gaze meets mine. “I’m okay, Matt. They didn’t touch me. And I’m not in pain. The baby feels—” Her voice cracks. More tears well in her eyes. “They were going to take me. And I think they wanted my baby.”

Rage like nothing I’ve felt sweeps through me.

If I didn’t have Isla here, I might actuallykillone of these assholes.

But I do. And she’s the most important thing.

Gathering her close again, I press desperate kisses to her head. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. This—” Emotion closes my throat for a second. “I’m just so damn sorry.”

Her soft hand comes to my cheek and she tips her head back to meet my gaze. “It’s not your fault, Matt. They cut the glass in the storage room. That’s what they said. There was no way to know.”

I almost crack my molars trying to keep my denial in.

I should have known.

Or I shouldn’t have brought her at all.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “We’ll get you checked out at the hospital, and then we’ll go home, and?—”

“I’m okay.” It’s quiet but emphatic. “Really.” The fear leaves her eyes. “You protected me. All of you did.”

My heart.

I feel so fucking guilty.

But I’m also so damn thankful she’s okay.

I scoop Isla up, one arm behind her back and the other her legs. Brushing a kiss across her forehead, I say, “Let’s get out of here, okay?”

She loops an arm around my neck and kisses my cheek. “Okay.” Then in a small voice, “Can we still buy those outfits? Do you think that would be okay?”

Oh.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and swallow hard. “Of course. We’ll buy whatever you want.”

19

ISLA

“Isles, I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

As Matt walks into the living room, I quickly shove my laptop to the side and do my best not to look guilty. “I am,” I reply. “See? I’m on the couch. Sitting. Resting. Not doing anything strenuous at all.”

He eyeballs the laptop with suspicion. “So you were just watching videos? Or shopping? Not working like I caught you doing three times since this morning?”

I could lie, but that’s not the kind of relationship I want to have with Matt. “I was checking emails. And going over my boss’s schedule for next week. But those aren’t exactly stressful activities.”

Crossing the room, he sinks onto the couch beside me and covers my hand with his. He gives me a sheepish look, his ears turning that adorable shade of pink. “I know you probably think I’m being ridiculous. Overprotective. Bossy, even.” His brows draw together. “I just want to make absolutely sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

Threading my fingers between his, I give his hand a little squeeze. “I know. And I don’t think you’re being ridiculous. Maybe alittlebossy…” Trailing off, I flash him a teasing smile. “I get it. Really. But the doctor said I was fine. And I’ve been resting since yesterday.”

“But the stress,” he insists with an earnest expression. “Doctor Goodman said stress can have a tremendous impact on your body. The cortisol and all that. Plus, I was reading online that increased stress can affect the?—”

He stops, his mouth clamping shut. The flush in his ears spreads to his cheeks. After a beat, he says quickly, “Anyway. The doctor said a couple of days of rest couldn’t hurt. And you’ve barely been resting as it is. With everyone coming by, and calling…”

I’d hardly call visits from his teammates stressful, particularly considering that Sarah brought over Rambo, her trained therapy dog, and Erik stopped over last night to practice some restorative yoga and meditation. And Lucy and Jade brought over all sorts of aromatherapy oils and candles and chocolate—the latter because, as Lucy claimed, “When I’m stressed, sugar is a necessity.”

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