Page 283 of Branded
Matt’s brows dragged together. “Last I saw, she was screaming at security, and they were threatening to call the cops.”
“Don’t threaten,” I said. “Call the fucking cops.”
Jules took a step back toward me. “I?—”
Finally, a glimmer of approval. Not that I cared. “He’s right,” Matt said, tugging his phone out of his pocket. “It’s time to stop fucking around with this.” He shot a glare in my direction. “I’ll get security to detain her.” His glare intensified. “Get Jules cleaned up and then her ass into a chair.”
“But—” Her blond ponytail swung behind her as she started to shake her head.
Matt turned to her, speaking in a way that was far too familiar for my peace of mind. I didn’t like that Jules and her boss could communicate with a glance. I wanted to be the one she turned to, the one who was staring into those dark brown eyes, sharing the inner thoughts that were currently clouding her gaze. “I’ve got a friend on the force,” Matt said, the words soft. “We’ll get you home as soon as possible.” His voice dropped until I had to strain to hear him. “I’ll pay you for the extra time.”
Home.
To her kid.
More guilt ravaged my insides.
A soft sigh, but she nodded and then Matt left (though not before the fucker squeezed Jules’s arm).
She turned, started to follow her boss.
My question was a burst of sound as I closed the distance between us. “Is Ethan all right?”
Jules’s head jerked, brows forming a tight V as she spun back to face me. “Yeeesss,” she whispered, dragging the word out and making it almost a question.
“But it’s late,” I said stupidly.
Those brows lifted. “Yes.” Still drawn out. Still a question.
“And he’s little.”
Then clarity slid onto her face, relaxing the lines, sending the confusion to the wayside. “My neighbor watches him while I’m at work. If it gets too late, she goes to sleep on the couch.”
“Oh,” I murmured. “Okay.”
Somehow, my stupidity had her face gentling further. “Ethan’s okay,” she said and laughed softly. “Sometimes I think he likes Mary more than I do.”
That couldn’t be right.
Jules was the most fascinating woman I had ever met, the most beautiful, the most?—
And I needed to get my shit together.
She had paper towels wrapped around her arm, was probably still bleeding from wounds that my ex had inflicted on her, and…I wasn’t doing jack shit about it.
Pulling it together, I gently touched my knuckles to her cheek, relief sliding through me when she held still, when she leaned into me for a fraction of a second. Then, of course, she was straightening, retreating, and her skin no longer against mine.
“Where’s the first aid kit?” I asked, shifting around her, tugging the door open.
“I’m fine. I can?—”
“Where’s the kit, gorgeous?”
Eyes on mine. Her lips parting slightly on an exhale. “In the kitchen,” she murmured.
“Okay,” I said, sweeping an arm forward, silently gesturing for her to proceed me out. “Bandages. Sprite. Talking to the police. Then home and sleep.”
She stared at me, not moving, not saying anything, so I dared to slide my arm around her shoulders, dared to touch her again, was thankful that she leaned in again, when she allowed herself to be tucked against me.
