Feeling too much like a voyeur, I tear my gaze away for a few moments, at odds with myself. I don’t want her to go away—I can’t have that happen. Yet, at the same time, I want to help her leave if that’s truly what she wants. I can somehow make this work in my favor.
I’m not surprised when I glance back and see that the act is over as quickly as it began. It wasn’t about one last frantic goodbye before he left. Her pleasure didn’t matter. It was just his, and the expression on her face lets me know she’s aware of that, too.
I grin as she remains defiant. The grin fades all too quickly while I watch as he systematically breaks down every bit of her strength until it appears she has none left. I continue to watch with mild interest, biding my time and waiting for him to leave so I can start my job. Unknown to him, he may think he’s teaching her a lesson, but in reality, he’s just getting her ready for me.
As I wait, he seems to grow more heated, while she struggles not to cower. I’ve seen this before, and as much as I want to intervene, I have to just sit and watch. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. Every fiber of my being screams for me to go to her the moment his hand encircles her throat. I may be many things, but I’ve never laid my hands on a woman in an antagonizing way. I never will, and the men—not that I’d even call them that—who do are the lowest forms of humans in my book. Morningstar, apparently, is no different, and I wonder how I missed it before. Making a mental note to go back through his file, I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, knowing I can’t react.
Promise me you’ll protect her. Promise me, Matthews, or I won’t do this.
His words echo through my mind, and I shake my head profusely, trying to wash them away. That voice—his voice—resounds in my brain from time to time, a constant reminder that I didn’t protect the girl he loved the most. A constant reminder that I failed.
With Gabriella, I won’t do that. It won’t happen again. Not on my watch.
It cuts me to the heart, the way she cries out and whimpers. The frightened doe-eyed look in her eyes stirs up a fierce longing to protect her. To right all of my past wrongs with this one girl. But I can’t make a move. I can’t alert them to my presence. I can’t be caught watching this scene playing out in front of me. All I can do was wait. I’m here to do a job, and no woman, no matter how delicate, how beautiful, can derail my plans.
Especially not the boss’s woman. But holy fucking hell, do I want to storm in and throw him off her. I don’t know why, exactly. I’ve been in this same position before, and usually, my sympathy for the woman doesn’t run all that deep. More often than not, they’ve put themselves in this position, and generally, they even fucking like it. They don’t want protection or rescuing.
This woman, with her expressive eyes, her quivering lip, and cowering shoulders, makes me feel differently. I want to protect her. I want to do what I didn’t once before. I want that with her. I have no fucking clue why.
Something about her is just . . . different. She doesn’t seem like the others, something that’s further cemented as I continue to witness their back-and-forth interactions. As she challenges him, I learn she doesn’t care about the money or the flashy things, especially now that Morningstar’s shown his true colors, apparently in the form of infidelity. She isn’t willing to turn a blind eye now that she’s found evidence of his indiscretions. And those indiscretions? She doesn’t even know the half of them.
What would she do if she did learn them? Better yet, what would he do? Why do I even fucking care? I don’t know the answer to that, but standing there in the shadows, watching as he takes everything from her, breaks down each little part of her, just as he’s been doing since the moment he first spotted her, I know she’s going to be different. This job is going to be different. We haven’t even spoken and I’m already feeling protective. I’m completely fucked.
Protect her.
That fucking voice resounds once again, and I give in. I know it’s inevitable. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect Gabriella Latham, whether she likes it or not. Failure, this time, is not an option.
Finally, after an agonizingly long wait and a game of cat and mouse between them, he turns on his heel and leaves, apparently convinced he’s won that round. But I’m not so sure. Soon, it’ll be my turn to play, to make sure she comes out the victor. Or at least that I do.
Long after he’s gone, she still sits there on the counter, unmoving, almost as if she’s fearful he’ll return if she does. An indiscernible amount of time passes as I just wait and watch. My phone beeps, a message indicating that Morningstar is in the air, flying far away from Philadelphia.
It’s time. I can no longer help myself. I want to be near her. I need to see Gabriella up close, to make sure she’s okay. And for some reason, I want to be the one to comfort her if she isn’t.
Get it together, Rafe, I think. You can protect her without getting too close.
One glance. One initial meeting before we begin working together on the construction. Just a brief introduction, a friendly face after that showdown. One good first impression to get the ball rolling and then I’ll go.
I’m not sure it’ll be that easy.
I’VE BEEN SO LOST in my own thoughts that, when the screen door slides open, I nearly jump out of my skin and tumble off the counter. A tall, broad-shouldered man enters into view. He’s big and masculine, almost blocking the sun as he fills the doorway. Mortification sets in as I wonder just how long he’s been there and how much he witnessed. More importantly, why is he here?
A sudden wave of terror washes over me, but it slightly dissolves when my eyes sweep over his face—a gorgeous, rugged face with sharp, prominent features I want to study for much longer. But I know better. If Adrian’s taught me anything, it’s that the saying is true. The devil does always arrive as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Never again will I fall for a pretty face.