Guarding Temptation - Talia Hibbert Page 0,19
to tell Markus and I? About men?”
He watched as confusion furrowed her brow, then turned into realisation—and something else, something he couldn’t quite identify.
Slowly, her lips tipped into a one-sided smile, and she repeated her own teenage mantra. “Men. Mine for a good time, not for a long time.”
James breathed the familiar words in and exhaled a new, hardened resolve. This was what it meant to be with Nina: to be temporary. He knew it, and he loved her just as she was—but he still had to protect his devoted, possessive heart at all costs. Maybe she’d have him again, and again, and again—but eventually, she’d be done. She’d walk away with no attachments, while he might be in danger of tattooing her name on his arse, or something equally disturbing. And James really didn’t want to be that guy.
His jaw hard, he nodded and turned in the direction of home—but a soft hand on his forearm brought him up short. He looked at Nina again and found her expression serious.
“James, why did you want to know that?”
He forced a smile. “It just came to me. The memory, I mean. Couldn’t quite remember the wording. It was funny.”
“It was years ago,” she shot back, “and it would be irrelevant if—if I—” she pressed her lips tightly together, looking vaguely tortured, and James realised she was about to say something involving emotions and feelings and all the other shit she usually found so abhorrent.
“James,” she started again, “you don’t think that—”
A voice carved through the closeness of their conversation, rising above the rumble of passing cars. “Oi! That’s her, I swear that’s her. Are you that Brexit girl?”
James stiffened. In an instant, everything inside him—the need, the resignation, the careful, barely restrained yearning, sharpened to a fine pinpoint. It was the knife’s edge of a blade named violence.
He forgot his feelings, forgot their conversation, forgot everything he had ever known except for three basic facts: Nina’s position beside him. The position of the three men up the street, the men standing and staring and shouting at Nina, drunk off each other’s presence in that way weak, dangerous men often were. And finally, James remembered everything he’d ever learned during decades of competitive kickboxing, lessons stamped into his bones through blood, sweat and tears.
As the men approached, a prowling pack of hyenas, he shoved Nina behind him and ordered tightly, “Do not move.”
“James—”
“Nina, listen to me. Do. Not. Move.”
He heard her shaky intake of breath, felt the press of her palm against his back. Knew that for once, she would listen. Reassured, he zeroed in on the approaching men again.
When they were a few metres away, he folded his arms and asked steadily, “Do we have a problem, gentlemen?”
The group, who had slowed down noticeably when Nina disappeared behind James, now came to a stop. The de facto leader, a scrawny white guy in a crumpled polo shirt and chinos, shot James a wary look. He shrugged, then looked back at his mates as if to remind himself of their presence, before stepping forward to reply. “No problem, pal,” he said. “Just thought we saw… someone.”
“Well,” James said evenly, “you didn’t. So turn around and piss off.”
Henchman number one, to the left of their fearless leader, hardened his rat-like jaw and adjusted the cap on his pin-head. “Alright, mate, calm down. Thing is, yeah, this is a free fucking country. No-one’s telling me what to do. Not you”—he spat on the ground—“or her.”
Fury racing through James’s blood, he surged forward. “This is the last time I repeat myself. Turn. The fuck. Around.” He looked at each man in turn, holding their gazes, letting them see.
See everything feral in him, just ready and waiting to come to the fore.
Maybe it was his size, the sight of his clenched fists, or something else—something vicious vibrating through his bones. Whatever the case, the leader caught his friend’s arm in an iron grip and muttered, “Come on, Harry. Ain’t worth the fucking mess.” They turned and left, their shadows receding around the corner until the street was empty but for passing cars again.
When James was certain they were gone, and his adrenaline had faded enough for him to do more than growl, he spun around and dragged Nina into his arms. She grabbed him right back, burrowing against his chest, grasping fistfuls of his jumper. Her hair tickled his jaw, her breaths coming quick against the hollow at the base of his throat. She smelled like