Page 54 of Protégé King

I round the desk and stand next to her. “Because my father is a lonely man who needs a woman, and he wants dating advice.”

My father’s irritation tics in his jaw while Alana jumps right on my bullshit. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “She’s a widower, but I’m fairly certain she’s dating a man I heard is billionaire.”

“Tough luck, Dad, but we have dinner reservations. We’re leaving.” My eyes meet my father’s. “I’ll see you in the board meeting tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will, son.” His lips curve and he eyes Alana. “Have a nice dinner, Alana.”

There is something in the way he looks at Alana that does not sit well. A mix of protectiveness and possessiveness rip through me. I catch her hand and the second I’m holding her, I know I cannot let her go again, not until this over. She’s not leaving my side.

We exit my office, and I lead her through the hallway and lobby, and I don’t stop until we’re in an elevator.

When we’re in the car and the doors shut, Alana turns to me. “What was—”

“Not here,” I say firmly. “Not in this building.”

She sucks in a breath and nods before she turns forward again. I’m still holding her hand and she glances down at it and then me, and I don’t shutter my stare. I don’t hide the dark side of me still clawing at me, or the protectiveness I feel for her. This is the part of me that will do whatever it takes to survive and to protect her.

The elevator dings and the doors open, her gaze jerking forward.

We step outside of the West Tower and into the bustle of New York City, and I guide her left. Alana’s hair flutters in the wind, her sweet, floral perfume teasing my nostrils and the part of me that wanted to throttle my father quite literally upstairs needs an outlet for that rage, and that outlet is her.

“Where are we going?” she asks, tugging me to a halt.

I turn to her, catch her to me and I’m on edge, still in that part of me that doesn’t have kind and gentle in me. “To my place to fuck unless you have a problem with that.”

“No,” she says, defiance in her eyes that tells me she will not be intimidated by my directness. “I don’t have even a small problem with that. Let’s go fuck in your apartment. I think it’s what we both need.”

It’s not what I expect from Alana, but I like it. I catch her hand again and set us in motion. Alana thinks she likes this side of me, but she doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She doesn’t have to know either, I remind myself. I can shelter her, and I will. Unless she’s naked. That’s a whole other story.

As soon as we’re on an elevator in my building, Alana turns to me and says, “I’m sorry.”

I pull her into my arms and cup her head, and just holding her close is like coming home. Like fulfilling every need I’ve ever had in this lifetime right here, right now, with her. “I’m sorry, too,” I say, “for so many things, Alana.” And then I kiss the hell out of her. I press my tongue to hers, and drink her in with slow, long licks, and savoring every taste as if it might be my last. I need this woman. I have to have her. And right now, I don’t care why she deserves better. I just don’t care.

The elevator dings, and I force my mouth from hers, but it is no easy task. If I had my way, I’d fuck her right here, and then do it again in my apartment. But she has limits, I do not. I catch her hand again and lead her down the hallway to my door. When we’re there, I punch in the door code, and repeat it out loud. “Learn it, Alana. You’re moving in with me. You can’t be my fiancée and not live with me.”

“I don’t think that’s a rule,” she says.

“It’s my rule.”

I shove open the door and a few moments, later, we’re locked inside and I’m already kissing her, on my way to burying my demons inside an angel. But I don’t think there’s any saving me now. I’m going to hell before this is over, and I won’t take her with me.

Chapter Forty-One

Alana

I don’t know what it says about me, but this dark, edgy side of Damion turns me on. He’s kissing me and his hands are all over me, and I don’t want him to stop, but somehow, I have the mental capacity to know he’s wrinkling my dress.

“My dress,” I pant against his mouth. “I have to wear it to dinner. We’re wrinkling it.”

He stares down at me with impatient eyes. “Then take the fucking thing off. Now. Please. For the Love of God.”

I laugh and offer him my back. “Unzip me.”

He grunts and yanks at it, struggling. “I’m going to break the damn thing off,” he murmurs while fiddling with it.

At this point, I’m as impatient as him and when I finally slip out of the dress, I carefully throw it over a chair. He comes up behind me, wraps himself around me, and his hands are so many places, doing so many delicious things to me, I can do nothing but moan from the onslaught of sensations. I moan as his lips press to my ear, his breath warm and wicked on my neck. “You, Alana,” he says.

“What about me?” I whisper, catching his hand on my breast.

---