Page 5 of His to Protect

He was so close to the light, I could see him clearly now, and my pulse began increasing all over again. His skin was tan, his shoulders broad, which I already knew, but what I couldn’t make out in the shadows outside were the dark-brown eyes and the chiseled jaw and the slight hint of deep-black scruff along his cheeks and chin. With his shaved head and large muscles he appeared to be more akin to a bar bouncer than a restaurant owner. My feet halted.

“You work here?” I asked, looking over his shoulder to see if there was someone else inside. It suddenly hit me that this could be quite possibly the dumbest thing I’d done since saying “I do” to Kevin Morgenson five years ago.

I took a small step back.

The man walked farther into the restaurant, as if to give me space to make my decision. “Name’s Declan James. The Fireside Grill, which you’ve been pilfering garbage from for the last week, is mine. I own it myself and there’s no one else here but me. Closed it down a few hours ago and have been cleaning and waiting to catch the rug rats who have been messing up my alley.”

His lips spread into a smile then. A full one, so wide it stretched his cheeks and a dimple popped in his right one.

My pulse fluttered for an entirely different reason now, and I swallowed.

I shouldn’t have been noticing this man. First, he was everything I was trying to get away from, meaning men in general. But secondly, he had muscles and anger and scowls and fists that looked like they could break bones.

But he seemed to be doing all he could to set me at ease and for that, I decided a meal—one hot meal before I left town—was worth the risk. I’d just get on the road sooner than I’d originally thought, now that someone could recognize me.

“Trina.” I shortened my formal name of Katrina on a whim. I’d always been Kat or Katrina, but never just Trina. I never wanted to hear the name Katrina again.

Declan stepped further into the kitchen, giving me plenty of room, so I exhaled a slow breath and stepped forward into the back of what was obviously the kitchen and prep area. Stainless-steel counters shined along the length of one wall and two metal doors were at the far end.

“I’m Trina,” I said again when he didn’t acknowledge me.

Instead of saying something, his eyes dropped and scanned my body. I waited for him to finish assessing me, which was what he seemed to be doing instead of leering.

I knew what he saw.

Not a woman who looked like she should be digging in dumpsters. More like a woman who belonged at a country club. I was wearing jeans and a short-sleeve shirt and my favorite pair of Pumas, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that I was not wearing thrift-store clothing. Even if I did only pack one bag full of yoga pants and jeans and tees, leaving behind the dresses and ball gowns, it was still obvious that my clothes were expensive.

His eyes were blank when they met mine again, though. “Nice to meet you. Now what are you hungry for?”

He turned and walked away from me, clearly expecting me to follow.

I shot one last look at Boomer.

He lifted his head and stuck out his tongue, panting sloppily before he yawned and lay back down, closing his eyes.

I shook my head and walked toward the kitchen.

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