Page 37 of His to Protect

I paused and pulled in a shaky breath. Behind me, Declan’s hand fell to the back of my neck, and through my hair, draped over my shoulders, his hand squeezed me, encouraging me.

Warming me in ways it shouldn’t.

Not then.

I blinked several times and focused on Blue. With a small smile, she nodded, giving me the courage to continue.

“My husband is Kevin Morgenson. He’s the son of Senator Morgenson.”

At their blank expressions, I almost laughed. Liberal Yankees.

We were only ten hours away, but a far cry from the conservative and Republican South, where the Morgenson name was revered, whispered in awe when any of them, myself included, walked into a business or home.

I hated the name.

“Kevin’s father, Kevin Morgenson Jr., has been a state senator for thirty years. He has held his position longer than any other senator south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

“Shit,” Tyson muttered and his lips twisted to one side. “Which explains why you want to head to Canada.”

I raised a shoulder and dropped it. “Kevin, both of them, but my husband in particular, have a strong influence all over the country. I figured if I could leave the country, then I’d be safer.”

“From what?” Tyson asked and lifted a hand, when a low growling sound emerged from Declan. “I need to ask, man. I know what you’ve told me, but I gotta know the story, too.”

A sudden desire to soothe Declan’s bubbling anger suffused me. I placed a hand on his thigh and squeezed.

It was the first time I’d touched him.

Heat from his strong, firm, and muscled leg seeped into the skin of my fingertips, singeing them. Before I could move my hand away, Declan’s other hand covered mine. He didn’t squeeze it. He pressed his hand into the back of mine as if he wanted to mold my skin to his.

I tried to push down the emotions it brought forth in me, the comfort it caused to boil in my own veins. I dragged my eyes off of our hands and back to the couple across the room.

When I did, another soft smile tugged on Blue’s lips. That time, though, it was because she was staring at our connected hands.

I tensed under Declan’s touch and cleared my throat.

“The first time he hit me it was because I’d gone out for drinks, lost track of time, and hadn’t prepared his dinner on time.”

“Asshole,” Declan muttered, his muscles tensing beneath my hand.

“There were too many to count after that,” I admitted, feeling the familiar shame weighing down my shoulders. I pulled my gaze off of Blue’s sympathetic expression and focused on the glass of wine in my hand. I twirled the delicate stem with my fingers and tried to find the desire to continue.

To them, I was a beaten wife. A woman who knew better, who knew it would continue and stayed anyway. I didn’t even want to know what they thought of me.

I hadn’t had time to consider it further when Declan squeezed the back of my neck again and leaned forward, his lips almost at my ear.

Then he whispered, in the softest, deepest, and most rumbly voice I’d ever heard. “There’s no judgment here, Trina. And you can stop at anytime.”

Trina.

He didn’t even know my name.

“Katrina,” I whispered, forcing myself to turn toward him. Our lips almost brushed and I pulled back, but his hand on my neck stopped me.

A slight hint of a grin twitched at one corner of his lips.

“I hate the name,” I told him.

He leaned forward, pulling me to the side and closer. I fought a shiver when I felt his breath along my jaw before it moved back to my ear. “It’s beautiful.”

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