Page 11 of His Innocent Muse

I arch a brow and glance back to see her slowly step away and hug herself. I hate that she’s hurting, that Chuck fucked up her life by existing, that her mother, Mabel, is gone, that her stepfather bolted, that she lived in squalor…

Most of all, I hate myself for not making sure Mabel was okay, for not asking more questions when she begged me for so much money. For letting her leave and being too slow to save her.

For losing what had been my only living link to the past, to our mutual friend Bridget, my former sub.

With a frown, I tug open a cabinet and grab my first aid kit and a glass. “I’m sorry.” For everything.

“It’s okay.”

She’s quiet, too quiet, while I rummage through the kit looking for anything useful. If Eustice were here, Lucy would already be bandaged, medicated, and snuggled in bed, her hair fanned across my pillow. A shiver hits my spine. Damn it.

Finally, she says, “I love your place. It’s so big.”

What the—I jump, dropping a rolled bandage and toppling the whole kit. I spin and back into the counter, her gorgeous face far too close to mine. Clearing my throat, I croak, “You walk quietly.”

What…a stupid thing to say.

She grins, and my entire world brightens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“You did no such thing.” I turn and set everything back into place.

She giggles, and I nearly drop it all again, instead, bracing on the cool granite to ground myself. If she were older, not injured, and I was the much younger version of myself, I’d already be ruining her. Stringing her up in my private gallery. But even older, wiser me wants to shatter her completely, so I can put her back together. Fucking hell, I’m the one who needs to be medicated.

No. I inhale slowly, cracking my neck. I need to get her sorted and get the hell out before I do something stupid. The Deviant Devices exhibit premieres in two days and it won’t organize itself, delectable house-guest or not. My erotic, living gallery might be primarily a front for blackmail and discreet laundering, but it’s also my proudest accomplishment.

“Is it that bad?”

“I won’t know until I see the entire area,” I mutter to the counter, scraping all the items back into the box in absolutely no order at all. Eustice will no doubt fix it later.

“Oh, okay. Does this help?”

Distracted, I glance to my side and freeze, catching the entire span of her bare back as she pulls her hair over her shoulder, shirt clutched in her other hand. Thankfully, she still has the skirt and stockings on.

I’ve seen more naked bodies than anyone, but I didn’t want to see this one. That’s a lie. I do, just… I don’t.

Her tiny frame is so damaged. There are old bruises, fresh scrapes, a scabbed cut, and the new bruise is…not as new as I thought. Only that one was visible, though, like they were all carefully placed so they’d stay hidden.

“Lucy,” I mutter, forcing the anger from my voice. “This isn’t just from the trunk, is it?”

“No.” She hangs her head, and an unwelcome protective urge roars to life, nearly stealing my breath.

“Chuck?”

After a weighted second, she nods.

No one. And I mean fucking no one, is ever going to touch her again.

“My thigh hurts a bit, too.” She tugs the edge of her skirt up to check herself, sending explosions ricocheting through me.

“Fucking Christ, girl,” I rasp, gently clutching her wrist and stopping her just in time. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I’m right behind her, so close I can smell strawberries in her hair and count the freckles on her shoulder. So close, if I just leaned down, I could taste her skin.

“I’m sorry! I thought you said you had to see.”

“I do, but I—you just—”

“Sorry, sorry.” She sniffles and shakes her wrist, ejecting my hand. For some damn reason, she starts to turn, like she’s determined to show me her perfect chest in full view.

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