"Ah, sorry..." He pushed a hand into his hair. Oh, God... The graceful lines of her body were something he was never going to forget. "Let me... um, let me get you something to wear."
He went to Z's closet and was stunned by how empty it was. There wasn't even a robe to cover her with, and he'd be goddamned if he'd put her in one of his twin's fighting shirts. He took off his leather peacoat and walked over to her again.
"I'll turn my back while you put this on. We'll find you a robe - "
"Don't take me away from him." Her voice cracked from pleading. "Please. That must have been him standing over the bed. I didn't know it, I couldn't see. But it must have been him."
It sure as hell was. And the bastard had been naked as sin and ready to jump her. Considering all she'd been through, the near-miss was a total cringer. Man... Years ago Phury had caught Z having sex in a back alley with a whore. It hadn't been pretty, and the idea of Bella's being subjected to that made him ill.
"Put on the coat." Phury turned away. "You are not staying here." When he finally heard the bedding move, and the creak of leather, he took a deep breath. "Are you decent?"
"Yes, but I don't want to go."
He looked over his shoulder. She was dwarfed by the coat he wore all the time, her long mahogany hair falling around her shoulders, the ends curled as if they'd gotten wet and had dried without being brushed. He imagined her in a tub, with clean water rushing over her pale skin.
And then he saw Zsadist looming over her, watching her with those soulless black eyes, wanting to fuck her, probably only because she was scared. Yeah, her fear would be the turn-on for him. It was well-known that terror in a female cranked him up more than anything lovely or warm or worthy.
Get her out of here, Phury thought. Right now.
His voice became unsteady. "Can you walk?"
"I'm light-headed."
"I'll carry you." He approached her, on some level unable to believe he was going to put his arms around her body. But then it was happening... He slid his hand around her waist and reached down, taking her behind her knees. Her weight barely registered, his muscles accepting her easily.
As he started for the door she eased into him, laying her head on his shoulder, taking some of his shirt into her hand.
Oh... Sweet Virgin. This felt so right.
Phury carried her down the hall to the other side of the house, to the room next to his.
John was on autopilot as he and Tohr left the training facility and walked across the parking area where they'd left the Range Rover. Their footsteps echoed up to the low concrete ceiling, bouncing through the empty space.
"I know you have to go back for the result," Tohr said as they got into the SUV. "I'll go with you that time, no matter what's happening."
Actually, John kind of wished he could take himself.
"What's the matter, son? Are you upset that I didn't take you tonight?"
John put his hand on Tohr's arm and shook his head vigorously.
"Okay, just wanted to make sure."
John looked away, wishing he'd never gone to the doctor's. Or that at least when he'd been there, he'd kept his mouth shut. Holy hell. He shouldn't have said a word about what had happened to him almost a year ago. Trouble was, after all the questions about his health, he'd been in answering mode. So when the doctor had asked about his sexual history, he'd alluded to the thing back in January. Question. Answer. Just like all the others... sort of.
For a moment it had been a relief. He'd never gone to a doctor or anything afterward, and in the back of his mind he'd always worried that he should have. At least by coming forward, he'd figured he could get a full checkup and really be done with the attack. Instead, the doctor had started in on him about therapy and the necessity of talking about the experience.
Like he wanted to relive it? He'd spent months burying the damn thing, so no way was he digging up that rotting corpse. It had taken too much effort to put it in the ground.
"Son? What's doing?"
Like hell he was going to see some therapist. Past trauma. Screw that.