Page 95 of Beautifully Wounded

It unsettles me a little how much I want it to be the latter.

Do I really want his interest?

Do I really want to feel his hardness and see what happens when I wrap my hand around it and—

Ringo, still watching me as I stare at him, raises a brow and mouths again.

“Come here, Angel.”

Oh.

Angel.

Why does he call me that?

“Because Angel is just for me.”

He said that to me when I asked if Angel could be my name instead of Charity. His reason left more questions than I began with, because it kind of felt like he meant it as an endearment, and not simply a name, and well, despite him being scary as hell,I liked the thought that perhaps the term, Angel, meant more to him.

Which is why I’m pathetic.

We don’t even know each other and the first hint of someone showing an interest and I’m practically drooling. It’s probably why Daniel thought I was a sure bet in the beginning.

Needing that prick’s name out of my head, I slowly start to walk across the courtyard, making my way to him as I pass the big burly man that cornered me the night I left Ringo’s room to find him.

I duck my head, not wanting to look at him, yet always on alert, my eyes darting back to the man just in case he pounces.

To my surprise, his eyes meet mine and he gives me a warm smile, if that’s what you can call it under all the bushy hair covering his jaw and upper lip. He gives me a nod, kind of like people give as they pass each other on the walking track around the pond in Fox Pines.

I don’t smile back. I can’t. He terrified me the other night, and I don’t trust him one bit. But he doesn’t call me out on it, and I continue towards Ringo, finally reaching him where he still watches.

“What were you thinking about over there?” He gestures his head back towards where I’d been standing, and I shrug, not wanting to reveal my inner thoughts. “You know, I’ve noticed something about you, Angel.” He reaches out, gently gripping my wrist and tugging me closer, guiding me to sit on his lap.

“What have you noticed?” I ask quietly, feeling my entire body flush with heat as I settle on his lap.

We are so close now, his scent wrapping around me, a mixture of spice and wood, and our faces are mere inches apart. I’mentrapped by his eyes, so dark, yet hypnotising as he stares back, making me feel… seen.

“Well, it seems that your creamy skin, right here,” he reaches up, his fingers grazing over the side of my face and into my hair before his thumb brushes over the apple of my cheek, “goes bright red quite a lot. Just like it is right now.”

My lips part as I suck in some air, having forgotten how to breathe for a moment there, but the action steals his gaze from mine, to drop to my lips, and holy hell, my heart flips inside my chest.

What is happening right now? Does he want to kiss me again?

It’s the ruse, Abbey. The role he’s playing to keep you safe.

“And your cheeks were flushed moments ago when you stood over the other side of the yard. So, what I want to know is, what were you thinking about then?”

I shake my head just a fraction, his hand still cupping the side of my head, his thumb still brushing back and forth over my cheek. My very flushed cheek.

“I… I don’t remember.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, you do. You just don’t want to say.”

His hand drops away, and I instantly miss it.

There’s no way I’m telling him what I was thinking about, which is certainly something out-of-place given everything that is happening.

I’m here because he kidnapped me from my abusive situation. A situation that also involved a fiancé that likes to rape me. How on earth can I be thinking about this man who I hardly know, and his… dick?

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