“You’ve run from me, slapped me, and just attempted to knee me in the balls. I’ve killed for much less. I’m not a nice man, London. It’s best for you to understand that now.”
I had no doubt that he was ruthless.
“Hurt me then if that’s what you want.”
He laughed and I felt the rumble in his chest against mine. “You’re extraordinary. And no, I don’t ever want to hurt you….” He paused as if he had all the time in the world. “London.”
Again, the way he said my name caused a wave of familiarity to filter through me and it wasn’t fear I felt, but protected. How was that even possible?
My palms pressed into his dress shirt and I felt the hard contours of his muscles beneath the material. But there was far more than his hard muscles under my touch. There were raised lines, like welts or maybe scarring.
“I’ll never lie to you, London. And I don’t want you to fear me.” His grip lessened when I stopped pushing at his chest, but instead of moving his hand away, his thumb casually stroked back and forth over the cleft in my chin.
I didn’t understand him. Why did he care? He spoke as if he knew me and I felt…. Why did I feel like everything he said was true? “Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of convincing me of that.”
He sighed. “Perhaps that is for the best.” He stroked a finger down my cheek.
I closed my eyes, unable to watch the satisfaction in his eyes when I said the words to try to negotiate the deal. “One night and you give him the two months he needs and promise not to hurt him.”
“Hardly seems like a fair deal,” he said.
I looked at him and met his laughing eyes with a glare. “I’m worth it.”
He grinned. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Jesus. What the hell was I thinking? He was toying with me and wasn’t going to accept any deal. “Let me go.” I struggled when he cupped my chin, fingers harsh.
“Shh, I’m merely teasing.” His grip lessened when I stilled, but his brows were drawn low over his eyes, all amusement gone. “One week. And he’ll get his two months.”
“And you won’t hurt him.”
“He won’t be harmed.” He paused, frowning. “But let’s be clear here. This is your choice.”
Oh, God. How could I be with this man when he was threatening my father? Maybe I should’ve let him drive away. How did I even know anything he said was true? I had nothing except his word.
But there was something more to Kai. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was the same feeling I had when I first smelled his cologne while in the closet. “How do I know you’re telling the truth and you won’t kill us both?”
He leaned forward until his mouth was so close to mine I could taste the scent of him on the tip of my tongue. A scent I recognized from a night I’d nearly died.
“I’ll always look out for you, braveheart,” he whispered.
I gasped, eyes widening, fingers tightening in his shirt, heart racing. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. It was him. He’d called me that.
It was like my mind was on rewind as the memory came whirling back. I’d been lying on the cool damp grass coughing and sucking in fresh gulps of air. My mind a fog, vision even foggier as I struggled to breathe. A shadow of a man leaned over me as he swept my hair away from my face with the tip of his finger. My eyes flitted open for a brief second, but everything was hazy and dark.
It was him.
I stared up at Kai, my mouth gaping. “It was you.” He scowled and started to draw back, but my fingers held onto his shirt. “It was you that night. You pulled me from the fire.”
He grabbed my wrists and clamped down on them so hard I was forced to let his shirt go. He pushed away from me.
I darted upright. “You called me braveheart. I remember.” The smell of his cologne. The sound of his voice. But it was him calling me braveheart that triggered the connection. “You said…. Oh, my God, you’d said you’d always come for me.” What had he meant? Come for me when? Why?
My mind spun out of control as the memory continued to replay. The fire was in the house I shared with five other students during my second year of university. It was deemed an accident, faulty wiring in an old house. We all got out in time, except I should’ve been dead. I’d passed out from all the smoke in my bedroom upstairs. All I remember was waking up on the neighbor’s grass with a man on his knees beside me. It was pitch dark and I couldn’t see his face, but I remembered the scent of his cologne mixed with smoke. And then his words when he said, “I’ll always come for you, braveheart.”
I thought I’d imagined him. The smell. Those words.
I’d dreamed about those words for months. I’d dreamed about this man—Kai. Holy Jesus.
I stared at him, my heart racing, emotions sparking off in every direction. He terrified me, threatened my father, was not a good man and yet… he was. He’d saved my life. Why would he do that? Why had he been watching me? “I don’t understand.”