Page 10 of Ruined By Protection
Hazel's hand twitches again in mine, a silent protest that I register but don't acknowledge.
Peter swallows hard. "Yes, sir," he says finally, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I understand."
"Good man." I reach into my pocket with my free hand and pull out a folded hundred-dollar bill, pressing it into his palm. "For your trouble."
His eyes widen at the bill and I watch his resistance crumble completely. "There's, uh, some food but I can't cook and the chef's gone by now," he says, voice steadier now.
"I'll handle it myself. Thank you, Peter."
He nods, backing away toward the door. "I'll... I'll come back in an hour, sir."
Hazel
I stare at Peter’s retreating back, my mouth hanging open in stunned shock. The kitchen door swings shut behind him with a soft whoosh, leaving me alone with Matteo in the gleaming industrial kitchen.
"What just happened?" I whisper, finally pulling my hand from his. The warmth of his palm lingers on my skin.
Matteo turns to me, his expression completely normal, as if intimidating hotel staff and commandeering professional kitchens is something he does every Tuesday night.
"We got dinner," he says simply, his dark eyes watching me.
"You just..." I gesture wildly at the door, "made that poor guy give us the kitchen! He could lose his job!"
"He won't," Matteo says with absolute certainty. "And he's a hundred dollars richer."
I shake my head, trying to process what I just witnessed. The way Peter's face changed when Matteo stepped closer—from annoyed to afraid in seconds. The way Matteo's voice dropped, becoming something dangerous and compelling.
It should make me want to run. It should set off every alarm bell in my head.
Instead, heat pools low in my belly and I feel a shameful thrill run through me. There was something magnetic about watchinghim take control, bending the world to his will with nothing but his presence and a few quiet words.
"You okay?" Matteo asks, his head tilting slightly as he studies my face.
"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. "I think I'm still processing how you just... did that."
His lips quirk up at one corner. "Did what?"
"Made him do exactly what you wanted." I cross my arms over my chest. "It was like watching someone flip a switch. One minute he was saying no, the next he caved and couldn't get away fast enough."
"People generally do what I ask," Matteo says, matter-of-fact rather than boastful.
"Is that so?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to regain my composure. "And what if I decide I don't want to do what you ask?"
A glint flashes in his eyes—amusement, challenge, and something darker I can't quite name.
"Then you don't," he says simply. "I'm not in the business of making women do things they don't want to do, Hazel."
The way he says my name—like he's rolling it delectably across his tongue—sends another inappropriate shiver down my spine.
"Now," he continues, "we need to find something to eat before you pass out on me."
He turns away, scanning the kitchen with the confidence of someone who belongs there. I follow him, still slightly dazed.
"You're completely crazy," I tell him, watching as he opens a massive stainless steel refrigerator. "Breaking into a hotel kitchen? Who does that?"
"I prefer to think of it as practical," he says without looking back at me. "You needed food. The food was here. I solved the problem."
"By terrifying a waiter and bribing him?"
