Page 19 of His to Protect

“My room is at the far end of the hall. I have my own bathroom, so you can have the one in the hallway. Between us, there’s a third room that I use as an office. You can use the computer if you want, but ignore the mess.”

“I’m sure it’s not too bad.”

“Sure.” I shrugged and slid my hands into my front pockets. “If the equivalent of a grenade exploding in a nine-by-nine room could be considered not too bad, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Her lips twitched at the edges. It was the first hint of a smile I’d seen on this woman since I’d met her. I wanted her to keep it, even though I knew I was about to make it evaporate.

“Trina,” I said and stepped forward, resting my shoulder against the door frame. “Do you want to tell me who hurt you?”

I was right. Her smile vanished along with the softness in her eyes.

She blinked and looked away before shrugging. “Someone who I will never let do the same thing again.”

Her voice quivered, belying her feigned strength and courage.

It didn’t matter.

I didn’t have to know who hurt her to admire her. She was strong enough to walk away, to decide enough was enough. This could have been the first time it happened, but I doubted that, too.

Somehow, this pulled me to her. Even knowing that letting this woman into my home was going to be a complete mind-fuck, it still didn’t change the fact that the more I saw her, the more I wanted to learn.

I wanted to know who hurt her so I could beat the living shit out of them, even as my brain screamed at me to stay far, far away.

She was exactly like Mara.

A woman used to having everything and doing nothing to work for it.

As I felt my lip curl into a sneer at the thought of my ex, I forced myself to remain calm.

“I need a drink. Want anything?”

“Water. Thank you.”

I nodded toward the stairs. “Come on down when you’re ready.”

—

“How long have you lived here?” she asked, sitting down on the living room couch. Boomer had curled up over her feet on one of the cushions after I’d assured her I didn’t give a crap if the dog got up on my furniture.

The first time he jumped up, her face paled as she pushed him off to the floor.

The second time it happened, she visibly stiffened when I caught her gaze.

Based on the terror flashing in her eyes, I realized this was most likely considered a punishable offense by the person who had beaten her. I also figured, based on the tan line on the ring finger of her left hand, that that person was her husband.

I actually didn’t want the slobbery, shedding mess of a dog on my couch, but I assured her it was fine.

Mostly, I was damn tired of her flinching and cringing away from me.

I’d buy a fucking better vacuum to get rid of the dog hair if I had to.

“A few years. Mara and I…my ex,” I clarified, when she arched a brow, “bought this house just before we were married two years ago.” I pressed my water glass to my lips and took a sip. “She took off just over six months ago.”

“Is she coming back?”

I snorted. “Not bloody likely. She’s back in Chicago trying to find a sugar daddy.”

“Oh.” Trina drew the word out and looked away, as if lost for words.

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