Page 105 of Craving Danger

Marcello cleaned her hand, but there’s blood on her forearm. I clean every inch of her arm before dropping the washcloth in the sink.

Samantha’s breathing returns to normal, then she whispers, “I whacked h-him with a p-pan and managed to g-get away.”

My eyes lock on hers, and lifting my hands, I brush her hair away from her face. “You’re so fucking strong, baby,” I murmur with awe in my voice.

“He…he,” she gasps. “He t-tried to strangle m-me.”

Lowering my hand, I caress the side of her neck with my thumb. “But you stopped him.” Amazed by my woman, I say, “You fought the fucker and won.”

Her features tighten as she whispers, “I was so scared.”

Wrapping my hand around the back of her head, I press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

She shakes her head, and her eyes darken with a fresh wave of fear. “I don’t know where he is. He can come back. He can try to kill me again. He –”

I capture her eyes with mine and say, “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she cries, her fear spiraling out of control.

Fuck, I wanted to wait until she felt better before I told her I have the man imprisoned in my armory.

Keeping my voice gentle, I say, “When my men got to your place, he was still unconscious in your apartment. They are watching him until I’m able to deal with him. He’ll never get close to you again.”

Her breathing stops, and her eyes widen. She stares at me for a moment then her eyes widen even more. “What?”

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore. I’ll take care of the fucker.”

She nods, but it doesn’t look like my words sink in.

Leaning closer to her, I say, “The fucker deserves to die for what he did to you, Samantha.”

She nods again, and keeping her eyes locked with mine, she manages to regain some control over her emotions.

Instead of arguing with me about what’s right and wrong, she lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you. I don’t think I can deal with anything else right now.”

Glancing down, she notices the spatters of blood on her pants and blouse, then she whispers, “I need to shower.”

“Okay.”

When I take a step away from her, she says, “But I don’t want to go home.”

“You’re staying with me.” I step into the shower and turn on the faucets.

“But I have nothing to wear.”

Moving back to where she’s sitting on the counter, I say, “Once you’re better, I’ll take you to the apartment to pack some of your clothes. In the meantime, you can wear mine.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

When I begin to walk to the doorway, Samantha hops off the counter and rushes to catch up to me. She follows me to my closet, where I grab one of my dress shirts.

We head back to the bathroom, and I place the shirt on the counter, then say, “I’ll be right outside the door. Okay?”

She nods, but as I step away from her, she grabs hold of my arm and keeps her head lowered as if she’s ashamed that she needs me.

I turn back to her and tilt my head to meet her eyes. “Do you want me to stay, baby?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and lifting her head, she admits, “I feel safer if I can see you.”

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