Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

“We covered that.” I took a step toward her and implored, “Keep going.”

“He scares the absolute shit out of me. When we were growing up, he was terrible to me. My father was hard on him, and Apollo took that out on me. He spent five years in jail for involuntary manslaughter. When he was seventeen, he got drunk one night, took my father’s car, and went on a joyride across town. He hit another car, and the elderly woman died a week later from complications. It was an accident, but he was rich and famous in some ways for being my dad’s son, so the judge decided to make an example out of him. He was in jail when Dad passed away and didn’t get to come to the funeral. I felt horrible for him. Until he lost his mind when the will was read. He told me that I deserved the burns and he’d wished I’d died in the fire.”

“Jesus, Rhion.” I reached for her, but she waved me off.

“So, yeah. It’s been two years. And just the thought of him is enough to send me off the deep end. Tonight, Cruella de Vil showed up and threatened to feed him information about me if I didn’t pay her off. And that’s when you arrived.” She shrugged and tossed me a weak smile. “You know the rest.”

Something was off. The story fit. It made sense. But it felt like a lot of shit had been glossed over. I was missing something. Something she’d no doubt left out on purpose. But what?

“And that’s all of it?” I asked.

“That’s the high points.”

“And if I want the low points?”

She inhaled deeply. “Then you’ll have to wait. Because, today, I spent three incredible hours picking through clothes with an amazing little girl. I got my hair curled and my makeup done, went toe-to-toe with an evil villain, and poured my heart out—in paragraphs—to a man who issued the best kiss of my life.” She smiled tightly. “The low points can wait, Jude.”

As I grinned back at her, I realized they could.

“You can’t blame me for trying.” I sauntered in her direction, retrieving her necklace from my pocket and sliding the diamond off the chain. I placed it in the palm of her hand and tucked the broken links back into my pocket. “You want to hear about my day? I listened to over four hours of Republican speeches today.”

“Is this a competition? Because, if I’m in the running, I’m not sure your story is sad enough to enter.”

“Oh, it’s sad stories now?”

She smiled and nodded.

One of my hands went to the small of her back; the other sifted into the back of her hair. “Okay…I might have an entry. See, four years ago, I fucked up. And, every night, I was forced to watch her die in my nightmares.”

Her face paled as her head snapped back. “Holy shit. You really did have nightmares about me?”

I leaned forward to catch her mouth for an all-too-brief kiss and then continued, “Yes. But I never should have implied meeting you was the nightmare. The fire. Your burns. The nightmares. Those are all on me.”

She shook her head repeatedly as she gasped, “No, they aren’t. They—”

I talked over her. “Shhh… That’s not even the saddest part, Rhion. Last week, something happened. And, now, she smiles at me. And looks at me like I’m the only man she’s ever seen. I tasted her. Touched her. Made her moan my name in a way that carved itself into my subconscious.”

Her hand came up to my bicep.

“And the real kicker is”—I laughed without humor—“I can’t fucking remember what I said to make her give that to me.”

I hated myself when her pale-blue eyes filled with tears. But that was nothing new. Not when it came to Rhion.

And it was that thought that made me drop my forehead to hers and declare, “I want new memories.” I tucked her hair behind her ear. “This is going to require I taste you again.” I kissed her chastely. “And touch you again.” I glided the tips of my fingers up her back, her skin pebbling in my wake. “And make you moan my name in ways I will never forget. You think we could do that?”

She nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.”

“Good answer,” I breathed.

“You’re real,” she breathed before biting her lip, a single tear rolling from her eye.

I smiled and then cleared the tear from her cheek with my thumb, whispering, “I’ve always been real, Butterfly. Even when I didn’t want to be.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she wrenched her eyes shut, a pool of moisture spilling out.

I kissed them away, wishing I could spend the night making sure none of her tears ever saw the light of day.

But, as much as I wanted that taste, that touch, and that moan, I couldn’t have them right then.

“I need to get Val home,” I whispered into the top of her coconut-scented hair.

She faceplanted into my chest and hugged me tight.

Another PSI of pressure disappeared, and I relished the sweet release.

“Tomorrow.” I kissed the top of her hair. “When I text you.” Another kiss. “I want paragraphs.”

She nuzzled my chest. “Okay.”

“She goes home on Tuesday morning. Plan for dinner on Tuesday night.”

“I’ll cook.”

I smiled to myself. “I like compliant Rhion.”

She giggled. “Don’t get used to it.”

Resting my chin on the top of her head, I replied, “I won’t.”

It was the absolute truth, because whether she was compliant Rhion, rambling Rhion, sweet Rhion, angry Rhion, or evasive Rhion, I’d never get used to any of it. Not when she was in my arms. But I was damn sure going to try.





I lived in his nightmares.

He lived in my dreams.

It was a jagged little pill to swallow. But it was hard to focus on the pain as he held me, vowing that he wanted new memories with me.

Not those from the fire.

Or the bits he’d retained from our forgotten night together.

New ones.

And there was nothing I wanted more than memories with Jude.

After he’d left with Val, I spent the rest of the night in my ocean room, listening to the waves crash all around me with a huge smile on my face.

I’d eventually have to tell him everything instead of the CliffsNotes I’d given him about Apollo. But I was in no hurry for that topic of conversation. Not because I didn’t want to tell Jude. Well, not completely. I didn’t actually want to tell anyone. It was the biggest reason I kept my private life private. Johnson was one on the very short list of people who knew the truth. And that was only because he’d had the unfortunate experience of witnessing it all up close and personal.

But, on the other hand, I wanted Jude to know me. The real me. And not the frightened woman who’d spent millions buying an entire floor in a downtown Chicago skyrise in order to stay close to the only man she trusted.

No. That definitely wasn’t who I wanted him to get to know. Though I feared that was who he’d get. And, worse, who I really was.

On Sunday, Jude and I exchanged texts. He’d said that he wanted paragraphs, and boy, did he get it.