purple-and-blue coloring instantly filling me with rage. Someone hurt her? Someone dared to lay their hands on her? Hell, I didn’t want any man even fucking looking at her.
I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides the farther she came into the kitchen. I watched as she moved some hair over her shoulder, and I realized that’s why she had it down, to use it as a shield, a curtain of blackness to hide the mark.
She had her head lowered as if she were embarrassed, as if she couldn’t look me in the eye. “I was just about to leave for the night, Mr. Blacksmith.” She cleared her throat.
“Lucius,” I said without thinking. “Call me Lucius.” Before I knew what I was doing, I was striding up to her, gently taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, and tipping her head back. Her hair fell away from her face to reveal the bruise. I gnashed my teeth together as rage and protectiveness slammed into me.
“Who did this to you?” The words were this low growl from me.
She took a step back, my hand falling away from her face. I instantly regretted putting my hands on her, even if it was a concerned, protective manner. I had no right to touch her in any way. It was crossing lines, unprofessional. But I hadn’t been able to help myself. I felt this proprietary sensation fill me when I thought of Elise.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything or touched your face like that.” I curled my hands into fists at my sides then shoved them into the front pockets of my slacks to keep myself from touching her again, from stroking my finger down her cheek, from pulling her in for an embrace.
Which was what I really wanted to do. She’d been consuming my thoughts for months, but even more so over the last week, ever since the kitchen encounter.
I couldn’t even explain why that moment had been pivotal, but ever since then, I’d grown obsessed with wanting to know more about her. Only reason I hadn’t acted on that—aside from her being my employee—was the issue with my father’s trust.
“What happened?” I tried to keep my voice gentle, soft. Inside, I was on fire, enraged, pissed that someone had fucking put their hands on her.
“It’s nothing. It was my own stupidity.”
I clenched my teeth. “Your boyfriend do this to you? Did he say it was your fault?” Fuck, even thinking she had someone in her life had discomfort settling in my belly.
She stared at me with eyes that started to widen. “Oh… no. There’s no boyfriend.” Her cheeks turned pink, and she glanced away, as if embarrassed she’d say that, admitted it to me.
I couldn’t help the pleasure that moved through me at the fact that she didn’t have somebody in her life. But on that same token, I also didn’t like it. It meant she was unprotected, had nobody watching her, making sure she was safe. I wanted to be that man. I’d never felt something so strong before, never in my life feeling this proprietary need, this bone-deep protectiveness to make sure another person was okay. Sure, I cared about people in my life, employees, the staff at my house. I cared about all of them. But not like this. Not like how I did for Elise.
We stood there in silence for a few moments, and I could tell she was a little uneasy. I wanted her to tell me what happened, but I didn’t want to push her. That might make her do the opposite, make her descend on herself even more.
I looked over my shoulder at the two servings of dinner Roberto made.
Worst case was she could say no. But she could also say yes, and that was good enough for me to cross lines. “Roberto always makes me two servings and gives the rest to the staff to take home. Unless you have prior plans, would you like to eat dinner with me?” I looked at the bruise on her cheek and told myself to keep my shit together. “I know I could use a nice glass of wine and a good home-cooked meal, and I’m assuming you might as well.” I looked into her eyes and loved that she had her focus trained right on me, not shying away or hiding her face.
She looked over my shoulder at the two aluminum containers on the counter and then glanced back at me.
“I really