Page 2 of Stalking in the Holidays

Two

Bryan

I stare dumbstruck at the tiny angel passed out in my arms. She looks so delicate with her dark hair plastered against her porcelain face. Her dark eyelashes are stark against her pale skin. She's tiny and wet in my arms like a little broken doll.

A surge of protectiveness like I've never known before rises up within me. She weighs a little more than a feather as I cradle her against my chest and stroke the wet hair back from her face. Her skin is cold, and that puts my instincts into overdrive. I've got to get her dried off and warm.

I was just locking up my gym when she came bursting through the door, her big cappuccino-colored eyes frightened and relieved all at the same time.

My mind is swirling with a million questions. What is she doing out on one of the coldest nights of the year dressed like this? Every instinct in me tells me she was running from something.

My jaw hardens. No, not something—someone. A girl doesn't look as frazzled as she did and go out like that unless she's in fight or flight mode.

I quickly finish locking up the gym while still cradling her in my arms and then kill the lights before I head upstairs to my dwelling above my business. I've got a two-bedroom loft above the gym, and it serves my needs perfectly.

As soon as I enter my living room, I head straight to the roaring fire. I don't want to leave this girl for a second, but I lay her gently in front of the fireplace before I quickly head to the bathroom to grab some towels. Her clothing is so soaked from the snow that it’s practically see-through and plastered against her skin.

I know it's wrong, and a tiny part of me hates myself for it, but I feel my cock stiffening in my pants when I see her cherry-red nipples hardened into little buds poking through the top of the flimsy tank top.

Jesus, she’s not wearing a bra.

My eyes skirt down to her bottoms, and I feel a bit of moisture leak out of the tip of my cock when I see her little pink mound outlined through the flimsy fabric.

I frown when I see something rectangular in there, and I know that what I'm doing would normally be wrong on so many levels, but I've got to get her out of these wet clothes to get her warm. I try my best to be a gentleman and avert my eyes, but fuck I'm a man, and I can't help drinking in every delectable inch of her young supple body. Every inch of her is so fucking perfect.

I don't touch her any more than is necessary, and I'm careful to resist the urge to trace my fingers over her nipples and down toward the area between her thighs.

When I pull her panties down and quickly avert my gaze, something clatters onto the floor. I pick it up and notice that it's a debit card.

Bonnie Belmont.

“Bonnie,” I whisper her name as I wrap the towel around her and dry her wet skin. I swear I'm not some pervert who gets turned on by girls he doesn't even know, but there's something about this one.

The way she stumbled into my gym. The way my heart instantly jumped up into my throat as if it was trying to jump out of my body and leap toward her. The way my chest got all tight when she fell into my arms. The way it's like something has clicked into place inside of me. One look at Bonnie's sweet face as she stumbled into my gym looking like a scared little drowned kitten and protective instincts I never knew I was capable of roared to life inside me.

I don't know anything about this girl, but I know in this moment that I would die for her. It doesn't make any sense, but fuck if I care. I can't turn off this feeling inside me. It's an instant obsession. I sit there on the floor in front of the fire with her wrapped up in the towel and cradled against me as I run my fingers through her hair and watch as it dries into luscious waves.

I don't know how long she's going to be out for, but I eventually tear myself away from her long enough to get one of my T-shirts and slip it over her so she doesn't wake up completely naked in a stranger's arms. That would probably scare her just as much—if not more so—than whatever she was running from.

Once her hair is completely dry, I finally, reluctantly, carry her to my spare bedroom and tuck her in underneath mountains of warm blankets, but I can't bring myself to leave her alone.

Instead, I sit in a chair in the corner of a room and watch over her.

I don't know what her story is, but I'm going to find out.

And little does she know that she just met her very own guardian angel tonight because I vow to myself that nothing—and I mean nothing in this entire world— will ever frighten this girl again. Not while I'm alive.

She showed up on my doorstep for a reason, and now I'm her protector.

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