Page 6 of His to Protect

Chapter 2

Declan

I walked away from the woman—Trina—before I did something asinine like demand she tell me who gave her the fading bruise on her cheek. I noticed it and felt the overwhelming urge to pummel someone as soon as she stepped into the light in the doorway of the restaurant.

Figuring she wouldn’t like seeing my hands balled into fists, I tamped that anger down with every ounce of self-control I possessed, and scanned the rest of her body.

When I did, I noticed several things all at once.

She wasn’t homeless.

My ex-wife, Mara, spent enough hours at the salon getting her hair and nails done, and then bitching about roots showing and chipped polish, for me to instantly see that this woman lived a lifestyle that Mara had craved.

Trina’s clothes were high-end. No cheap pair of jeans could hug a woman’s hips and thighs, and most likely her ass, as well as the ones this woman wore.

A flash of her throwing her hand up in front of her face when I went to stop her from running pierced my mind, and I fought the urge to growl.

No, she wasn’t homeless, as I originally assumed when I saw her crouched over a ripped-up bag of garbage handing scraps to her dog.

She was hiding.

Running.

And for some damn reason, I had an overwhelming instinct to take care of her.

For a meal,I reminded myself.

I had enough shit going on in my life that I didn’t need to take on this additional cause. Saving my restaurant, which hadn’t turned a profitable month all year, was my priority. And while the fall and football season generally meant more business, I still had more problems than solutions. I didn’t need any more.

“You decide what you want?” I asked, turning on the grill.

Focus. I needed to focus. Feed her, get her out of here, go home and have a stiff drink, so I could wash away the memory of what I thought when I first saw her.

Protect her.

When she didn’t answer, I twisted my neck to see her hovering by the doorway. She was keeping an eye on the door to the alley and her dog, as well as me.

I didn’t blame her for being scared of me. Women either wanted to fuck me or skip to the other side of the street when they saw me coming. I couldn’t help it. I’d been addicted to sports since I could walk and throw a ball. Four years of college football only increased my love for being in shape. The few minor bodybuilding competitions I did after I graduated cemented it. Lifting weights and working out relieved my stress. I carried enough on my shoulders on a daily basis that lifting was no longer a hobby, but an obsession.

“I can get you a menu,” I told Trina when she didn’t answer me, just sucked her lip between her teeth.

“Salad,” she muttered and blinked. “No, wait…” I tried to keep my expression blank while she chewed on that damn lip. Not because it was sexy, but because between the lip biting and the fidgeting she was doing with her hands, I could tell she was still nervous.Over a damn meal?

With a nod, she looked at me, meeting my gaze for the first time. “I want a burger. With cheese. Two slices…oh.” Her face lit up, her smile widened.

I felt like I’d just been punched in the gut.

“And with fried onions.”

“Onions?”

Her head snapped back at my question and that lip found its way between her teeth again before she looked away. “I mean, if that’s okay. Or if it’s too much work, I’ll just take the salad.”

Her shoulders slumped as she turned back toward the dog.

I got the feeling that request was about way more than food.

I watched her as she shifted on her feet, eyes focused on the door like she was ready to make a run for it, but then her fingers brushed against the yellowish bruise on her cheekbone.

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