I say ‘Yes, Daddy,’ and do as I’m told?”
James ignored the many layers of sarcasm in that sentence. He also ignored the entirely disturbing way it made his dick jump. This was his usual tactic when it came to Nina’s teasing and Nina’s strength and Nina’s beautiful fucking face: ignoring it.
Instead of throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her, kicking and screaming, to the safety of his flat—which was what he wanted to do—he took a deep breath, walked around the desk, and leaned against it, facing her. He met her flinty gaze and held it, letting her see his worry, his outright fear.
And then, when the hard set of her jaw softened and her scowl faded slightly, he said, “How would you feel, Nina? If I wasn’t safe in my own home?”
She huffed out a sigh and rolled her eyes haughtily, and he knew she was cracking. “Don’t ask me emotional questions. We aren’t friends.”
He didn’t flinch, focused on his goal. “Who’s going to keep you safer than me?”
She tutted. “Because you’re a tank who spent years learning to beat the shit out of people, you mean?”
Despite everything, James managed to huff out a laugh at her phrasing. “I assume you’re talking about my kickboxing days.” Not that he’d exactly given up his sport; he’d just stopped bothering to compete. Didn’t matter. His father had made him start lessons years ago because A boy needs something to do, and men our size need to understand and respect our own strength.
And now James was going to understand and respect his own strength into someone’s skull, if they fucked with Nina and made it necessary. Simple.
“Whatever,” she sighed. “It’s not your job to keep me safe.”
“But I’m going to do it anyway. No need to thank me.” Trying not to smile at her outraged expression, James stood and strode toward the door. “We’ll get your stuff after I close up.”
“What are you going to do?” she growled. “Kidnap me?”
“If necessary, Cupcake.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
She wasn’t seriously arguing anymore; he could tell. She knew he was right, and she’d already given in. Still, he responded honestly. “For you, I’d dare a lot.”
Chapter Two
The fact that Nina had given in to James didn’t make her fickle, or pathetic, or childish—at least, that’s what she assured herself as she flopped back against his bed and stared at the ceiling. She was afraid, she was at risk, and she had limited options so far as the whole ‘feeling safe’ thing went. That was all.
This didn’t mean she’d forgiven him for… well, for the disgraceful crime of not being in love with her, which wasn’t technically a crime, but whatever. Nor did it mean she’d given up on her personal resolution to stop being in love with him. Three years of unrequited adoration was more than enough. She was a dignified sort of woman, after all.
But burying herself in James’s sheets was making it hard to remember all that, and even harder to focus on disliking him. The scent of clean skin and star anise, along with the hint of engine-oil-edged musk that was pure James, flooded her lungs and confused her heart. How the fuck was she supposed to sleep in here, like he’d insisted?
About as easily as he’d manage to sleep on the sofa, probably. The thought of him squashing his broad frame onto living room furniture while she took up his king-sized bed appealed to Nina’s pettiness… But not to the annoyingly devoted part of her that just wanted him comfortable and well-rested. Christ, that part was annoying.
She got up, heaving out a sigh, and pulled her pyjamas from her mammoth holdall. She’d spent the day hanging around at the garage because James refused to let her out of his sight, but now they were home and she was exhausted. She changed, grabbed her laptop, and wandered out into the living room. Returning to the scene of her greatest humiliation wasn’t high on Nina’s bucket list, but that was exactly why she had to do it. First of all, to show him that she didn’t give a fuck. And second of all, to convince herself that, eventually, she wouldn’t give a fuck.
She’d get over it. She would. The alternative was too depressing to think about.
She gritted her teeth and sat down on the innocuous-looking leather sofa, trying her best not to remember. It didn’t work. The minute her arse touched the soft, dark cushions, her mind was assaulted by high-def, surround-sound recollections of