Page 163 of Renard's Deliverance

She attempted what he thought was a smirk but ended up being a grimace. “Don’t know what you mean, darlin’. There’s nothing going on except that I need my makeup.”

He shook his head. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” She should, right?

And he’d need to control his temper as she did. Because this wasn’t about him.

It was all about her.

“No!” she said sharply. Then she sighed. “Sorry, but I had to talk to Jake about it and I’m talked out right now. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to do my makeup.”

He paced up and down the bedroom. “Damn it. I want to help you.”

Her face softened. “You are helping me.”

Renard shook his head, frustration riding him hard. “No! I’m not. I can help you physically, but I can’t help you with the stuff in here,” he pointed to his head, “or here,” he patted his chest.

“I don’t need help.”

“Opal, baby. You were kidnapped, you were beaten and held against your will. Terrorized. That leaves a mark on someone.”

“I’m tough.”

“Nobody is so tough that they can just power through that. It would leave a mark on anyone. Talk to me, baby,” he pleaded.

“I . . . I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Just let me in.” He turned and walked swiftly closer, raising his hand to brush his fingers through his hair in frustration.

The flash of fear on her face was enough to have him stumbling backward.

Fuck!

Fuck what was he doing?

Why was he pressing her like this when she obviously wasn’t ready to talk?

He knew that Stefan had treated her badly, that she had lived through something horrific.

Yet, she hadn’t shown any sign, not once, of being scared of him.

She went to the club, she had scened with strangers, she’d played up until he’d spanked her.

And she hadn’t shown fear.

But now . . .

Her barriers were lowered. Her defenses down. And he’d just moved sharply toward her after she’d been kidnapped and beaten.

He was the worst type of person . . . of man.

You don’t fucking deserve her.

What do you know about protecting something precious?

He could see how fragile she was under her bravado. She needed a delicate touch, not a bulldozer.

Fuck.

Fuck!

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