it once was. If anything, he looks panicked that I’ll react negatively to his gallantry. I would have preferred to keep him out of my messy life, but I guess he knew what he signed up for when he asked me to become his wife.
When Julian stops in front of me, I slip my hand between his before raising my watering eyes. “I’m sor—”
“Shh.” He pulls me into his chest before weaving his fingers through my hair. “I don’t need your apologies, Mel. I just need to know you’re okay. No woman should be required to handle Vincent alone, let alone one who’s been through what you’ve been through.” He whispers his last sentence only loud enough for me to hear.
“I’m okay.” My words are muffled since he’s holding me close, but I know he hears them as his racing heart calms within a nanosecond of them leaving my mouth. “But I’d really appreciate it if you could take me home. I need to shower.”
Nodding, Julian inches back, secures my hand in his, then guides me toward his guarded, and most likely, bulletproof car. When he advises the driver to take us to my loft, I curl my unclutched hand over the balled one resting on his trousers. I don’t know what was said between Mr. McGee and him, but it was clearly unpleasant. His jaw is ticking, and his blue irises are swamped by black pupils. I’ve never seen him so worked up.
“Can we stay at your place tonight? I don’t want to go back to my loft.” I didn’t acknowledge it at the time, but shockwaves rained down on me when Mr. McGee said he had dropped by my apartment. Just the thought of our exchange taking place in my home has me breaking out in hives. I struggle being alone with Julian, so you can imagine how hard it is when your male guest shares the same blood as the man who raped you. “It’s closer, and I’m really tired.” I’m lying. We can walk to my loft within five minutes at this time of the night. I just don’t want to go there right now.
I also don’t want to be alone.
“Of course.” Julian hides his surprise at my request to spend the night at his penthouse for the first time with a high tone. “Shall we swing by your apartment and pick up some of your belongings first?”
I shake my head. “I have everything I need right here,” I assure him while snuggling into his side. “Just take me home.”
“Home,” Julian repeats, smiling. “I like the sound of that.”
9
Brandon
Isabelle’s eyes lower to the clipboard in her hand when Hugo asks, “Are you sure this is the address you're looking for?”
He pulls my BMW into the dusty driveway of the Shroud family ranch before swinging his eyes to Isabelle. How is he driving my car on the day Isabelle and I decided to travel to Megan’s family home for some private investigative work? He took command of it when Isabelle shot out the tires of his Isaac-owned Audi hours ago.
I had noticed we were being tailed not long after we left Isabelle’s apartment, but since I was too busy getting IA off Isabelle’s ass, I failed to notice a second vehicle until we were on the freeway. I knew Isabelle’s gall would be as high as she is tall—she was raised by a big, balding Russian with a short fuse—but I never anticipated for her to respond to the news we had a tail in the way she did. She approached the target as she was taught in the academy, then halted his wish to retreat when he failed to yield at her request.
I shouldn’t have been relieved when we discovered the perp was Hugo but, for some reason, I was. I’m planning to toss Isabelle into shark-infested waters next weekend, so the more protection she has, the better it will be for all involved. I won’t let Castro or anyone from his crew get to within an inch of Isabelle, but not even the most confident agents turn down a third set of eyes.
After double-checking the number hand-painted on a microwave at the front of the Shroud’s family ranch, Isabelle nods. A stern mask slips over Hugo’s face when he returns his foot to the gas pedal. He’s barely driving five miles an hour, but dust still kicks up behind us. It doesn’t look like these parts have seen a rain cloud for a few months.