His to Protect - Em Petrova Page 0,39
protect me?” He slicked his fingers through his sweat-damp hair and then sent her a piercing look. “I’m not going anywhere, Sloane. I’ll see you safe…and I swear I won’t fuck up again.”
* * * * *
It struck him that she didn’t think he could protect her. Hell, if he couldn’t keep her safer than this, what right did he have to call himself a member of The Guard? He might as well condemn himself to a life of maps.
She left the bathroom, and he watched her go. It shouldn’t piss him off and cause a pang of hurt all at once, yet her loss of faith in him stung far more than the fresh knife wound and stitches he just placed in his arm.
After shoving to his feet, he moved to the sink and washed his hands again. In the other room, he heard the door close quietly and knew Sloane shut him out.
It’s for the best. Letting his shield down and taking her to bed had shifted something between them. Life existed on balance. Even here in this cabin, he saw it many years. Spending a couple weeks together as a family, playing in the salty ocean, would eventually wear them all out. His father would grow more withdrawn and irritable. Then his mother would declare it was time for them to pack up and head back to their lives.
Later, North connected the dots and concluded that humans required down time as well as periods of productivity—the balance.
He’d played with his ward, leaving their tenuous bodyguard/ward relationship teetering on one leg. Sloane might have seen him as her lover rather than her protector, and now that leg had been kicked out from under them.
She asked me to leave her.
He shook his head and splashed water on his hot face. Stitching himself up drained the energy from him, but he needed to make it through a lot more hours left in the day.
Maybe he really should consider handing her off to someone else. He could go after these bastards one at a time without the worry of her protection.
No. I won’t go.
When he accepted his post with The Guard, he hadn’t taken the job to sit at his computer and locate people on maps. No, he took the job to protect, rescue, save and fight dirty until the final end.
He dried his hands on a towel, took one more glance at the bandage covering his arm and went in search of Sloane.
As soon as he spotted her curled up in his mother’s favorite striped armchair, his heart gave a kick. The dip of her head, the weight slumping her shoulders, made him feel even more like an ass.
He skirted the coffee table to crouch before her. She refused to meet his gaze.
“Sloane. I’m not going anywhere. I took this job, and I’m dedicated to keeping you safe. You’re my responsibility—I won’t walk away.”
Her eyes flicked up, the depths swirling with something he couldn’t name. That dark itch to feel her head tucked beneath his chin almost made him reach for her. He controlled the urge.
“You don’t have to like it. Many of my wards don’t like me, and that’s fine. I’m not trying to win a popularity contest—just keep you alive.”
Her lips twisted, and he latched his gaze there. For a full five heartbeats, he thought he’d lose the battle and kiss her. One brush…one taste.
One more kiss meant he’d never escape these emotions she stirred up in him.
She reached toward his injured arm. Long seconds ticked by, though her fingertips never met his skin. She withdrew her hand, but not before he caught it and crushed it in his own.
He latched on to her stare. “I’m fine. This is far from your fault, Sloane. You hear me?”
She ducked her head, though he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.
“Hell.”
He pulled her off the chair into his arms. She didn’t resist, which made him more concerned by how vulnerable she seemed. For a long moment, neither moved or spoke. Finally, he stood, drawing her to her feet with him.
“You know what my mother used to suggest on rainy days when we were bored?” he asked.
She tipped her head to look at him. “What?”
“Monopoly.”
Her lips twitched.
“I challenge you to a game.”
Her brow puckered. “I don’t remember the rules.”
“I do.” It took some effort, but he released her from his hold and let his arms drop to his sides. “Why don’t you clear those old magazines off the coffee table, and