I leave the site a little late after gathering all the papers I need to show Dad and his slimy accountant. The whole situation isn’t sitting well with me. Accounting is not my strong point, planning is, but even I know something is wrong. I walk to my car, noticing Mr. Jennings in his huge black pick-up at the other end of the lot. No matter how late I stay, his truck is there, waiting for me to leave. The first night it happened was during our first project together. It scared me a little then, but now it makes me feel safe. Him just being around makes me feel safe.

Everett Jennings is easily the most ruggedly sexy man I have ever seen and the star of every fantasy I’ve ever had. He’s probably in his early thirties, with the body of a god and the most mesmerizing hazel eyes. A wild mane of brown waves too long to be professional, but not so long that it could be pulled back, is always messy perfection. I want to run my hands through it. And those arms. The man has sun-tanned arm porn for days. I toss him a polite wave, knowing he’s watching, and head toward my meeting. I love that he’s watching me. I love it so much that I barely notice my drive across town.

I snap out of my lusty daydream and step out of my car, locking it with the fob. I hate the west side of town—high crime and lots of bars means I’ve been mugged there twice, but, thankfully, I never carry cash and I didn’t get hurt. Dad doesn’t care what makes me uncomfortable. He never has before, so why start now? The last time I was robbed, he suggested I dress down to avoid “looking wealthy”. It’s like telling him to have a less nice house to avoid being robbed. Tact isn’t my father’s strong point. One of Dad’s companies owns Scavelli’s, so we always go there to do our business, even if it’s in the worst neighborhood.

I’m greeted by the mouth-watering smell of Italian food, and Maurice seats me in the back, saying my father is running ten minutes late. Dad can call the restaurant but not send me a text about his tardiness. Oh, well. It gives me time to go over the numbers one more time before he gets here. The apartment project is supposed to be showing him that I can make it, that I have what it takes to take over one day. I never wanted to take over when I was younger, but I learned at a young age that what I want doesn’t matter. Now, it’s expected of me, so I am determined to rise to his standards. In reality, my life-long dream is to be a wife and mother, to give some cute little kids all the love I missed out on, but I could never tell him that. My mother got enough abuse from him on that subject, and I refuse to let him do it to me. Dad married her, got her pregnant, then refused to let her work but called her lazy. Bastard. He wanted a son to carry on his family name but got me, and as he put it, “You’ll have to do.”

An hour and three Diet Cokes later, I get a message from Maurice that my father is not showing because he got held up at some bullshit meeting. I spend all day locked in a trailer stressing about numbers instead of watching Mr. Jennings work, after being late, and now I am in a shitty part of town at night alone. Daddy didn’t even have the decency to call my phone, he called the damn restaurant. I pay for my drinks, leaving a tip for Maurice, and stack my papers back inside my bag, cursing my asshole father under my breath. My apartment is clear across town and I am pissed and tired. I thank Maurice as I leave, and he tells me to be careful.

The night air is just as hot and sticky as the day, but at least a slight breeze rustles the wisps of hair falling around my neck. No amount of hairspray can hold in the muggy heat. I pass bar after bar on the way back to the lot I parked in, but it’s not until I have to turn down an alley that the creepy feeling prickles through me. The feeling that has me convinced that I’m being watched. Each little alcove has a door leading to a bar or club, and none of them are lit—too easy for someone to hide. I glance around behind me and see nothing, so I silence the paranoid part of me. I’m about to come out next to another bar into better lighting, convinced that the feeling was all in my head, gun-shy after the last time I got mugged, until someone calls out behind me.

Before I can turn, a thick arm grabs me from behind, pulling me back into the alley by my waist. Fight or flight kicks in, and I fight. I try to scream, but a gloved hand covers my mouth and the grip on my stomach tightens. I fight, kicking and screaming into the glove until I am thrown roughly into the brick wall like I weigh nothing. My vision blurs when my head bounces off the rough surface. I feel the gravel and grit imbed into my hands, but it doesn’t hurt. I’m just focused on the chance to run. A little relief slips in, but not for long. A weight lands on top of me, and no amount of kicking or pushing will move it. I open my mouth to scream, blinking to clear my eyes, and a sharp pain spreads across my neck. My shirt is torn and the sticky air hits me at the same time as a stab against my neck. I flail, worthlessly, screaming, trying to strike the person tearing at my clothes, but he’s too heavy, too big. My too-tight skirt keeps me from kicking him with my heels. The knife digs into my neck, holding me against the wall.

“Shut up and be still,” a rough, angry voice hisses at me. Something hits my head in the same place as the wall, and the blackness tries to consume me. Please don’t rape me. Please don’t kill me. All I can think is that I am going to die in this nasty alley. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stay conscious enough to fight and scream. I scream into the glove, shoving, pushing, kicking.

Then the weight and knife are gone. I finally take a deep breath and open my eyes to see two shadowy figures fighting. My world slows down further. The man on top, and it’s definitely a man, is furiously punching the one under him. The guy underneath doesn’t stand a chance when the on top is so big. I yell, hoping to stop the fight while also hoping the guy winning is my knight in shining armor. The man on top jumps up, coming toward me, huge and imposing, as the other one scrambles out of the alley the way I came. I realize my mistake and curl into a ball. My mind knows it won’t help, but I’m working on instinct. I should have run while I had the chance. The massive shadow powering toward me has me closing my eyes and hoping I’m not about to die.

“Please, just leave me alone,” I sob, hoping he takes pity on me.

A soft hand touches my shoulder and the deep timbre of a familiar voice hits my ears. “I got you, Boss.” Everett Jennings drapes a flannel shirt over me and scoops me up, cradling me against his chest. “You’re safe now.”

My arms instinctively go around his neck, and I bury my face in his chest. “Thank you,” is all I can manage. My whole body is shaking, and the pain starts to spread through me as the adrenaline wears off. My head and hands burn; my neck is throbbing, and my whole body starts to ache. He carries me several long strides, and I try to open my eyes, but my head hurts too bad.

I hear the beep of a car unlocking and jump a little. “You’re safe, Boss.” He kisses my hair, and I nod. I’m placed on a seat and his hands slide down to my hips to steady me. I open my eyes and see the worry etched on his face in the dim interior light. When I put my foot down to adjust my posture, my ankle screams in pain, and I gasp, making him grip me tighter.

“Let’s get you home and cleaned up.” Everett reaches over and buckles me snugly before walking around the truck and climbing in. “What happened?” The truck roars to life and his hand moves to rest lightly on my thigh, making me feel even safer and slightly squirmy. The man I have been dreaming of for months just saved my life and literally swept me off my feet. If Everett wasn’t there to rescue me …

I go through the story as he drives, moving away from my apartment and toward the rolling hills and farms outside of town. I start looking around frantically, so immersed in my story that I didn’t realize we aren’t going to my apartment. Before I can even ask, Everett answers me.

“I didn’t say whose home. I’ll take care of you tonight.” A rakish smile graces his lips in the passing streetlight, and I feel the heat rise in my face before settling on my cheeks. The truck turns up a gravel drive lined with thick trees and stops in front of a massive log cabin. Something very stupid in me trusts Everett completely, and I don’t even question going to his house alone.

“You live here?” I ask stupidly as the garage doors open to reveal another truck and a motorcycle along with a huge workshop. The place is sprawling, like a cabin you would see in a painting, and absolutely beautiful. It’s more like a resort than a home.

“Yeah, Boss, I live here.” The truck goes silent, and I’m suddenly reminded that I went home with a man I barely know. Granted, he did save me from a very unfortunate fate, but I’m shocked at calmness. Everett laughs lightly, jumping out of the truck and walking confidently around to my side. The door opens, and he lifts me out by my hips, setting me gently on the ground.

“Your ankle all right?”

My left ankle is swollen and scraped from my fall, and putting pressure on it has me grabbing his bicep and whimpering. Geez, that bicep. Without another word, I’m scooped off my feet and carried through a mud room and up a set of stairs to the most luxurious bathroom I have ever seen. The entire thing is slate gray with white accents and a double sink. The shower is huge with enough jets to wash his whole crew at once. Now there’s a thought.

Everett sets me onto the counter and wordlessly sets first-aid supplies on the counter. I peek at myself in the mirror and gasp, making Everett jerk to watch me. Mascara streaks my face, the bump on the side of my head is an angry purple and bleeding, and the thin cut on my neck is weeping blood onto my torn blouse. If not for Everett’s shirt, I would be completely exposed down to my white lace bra.

I’m pulled from my pity party when my shoe is tugged from my sore foot and rough hands go to work rubbing it softly, cleaning the scrape. “Mr. Jennings—” I wince when he touches a tender spot in the wound.

“Everett.”

“Everett, I can do this. I promise I’ll be fine.” He looks disappointed but continues cleaning before applying a bandage and wrapping it to help the sprain. His hand runs up my calf to my knee where he cleans it and applies antibiotic ointment. Goosebumps follow his fingers up my leg, and I shudder. This should not turn me on. With him stopped in front of me, gently taking care of my wounds, I can really appreciate the cut muscles and sheer strength of his whole body. He’s so massive up close and smells amazing. The earthy, manly scent has me feeling a little drugged.

Everett holds his hand out, climbing to his feet, and eyes my hand. “I’m sure you can do it just fine, but I’ll take care of you.” His phone rings in his pocket and he tugs it out, swiping the screen. “Jennings.” Everett props the phone on his shoulder and continues cleaning my hand, bandaging it too. “Sorry, man, I had an emergency to take care of and cut out. I can get that to you tomorrow; it’s in my truck.” I look over his tanned face and hazel eyes, letting my heart rate speed up with every little touch he lays on me. “Dex, I may be a bit late in the morning, but make sure to keep them on the job. Thanks, man.” He tosses the phone onto the counter and reaches for my neck. I wince, jumping back involuntarily.

“Sorry.” I know Everett would never hurt me, he just saved me. “I’m just jumpy.” I lower his shirt enough for him to clean that cut too, his calloused hands brushing my skin and making me breathless. The last thoughts I should be having are about having those hands all over my body, but I am. I’m having them enough to make me need to shift uncomfortably.

“This one has me worried.” Those hands touch my chin, tilting my head so he can clean the cut on my head. The cool rag touches it, and I suck in a painful breath. “That is going to hurt like a bitch in the morning, but your pupils look okay.” I cling to the edge of the counter while Everett packs up the supplies, and when he puts the bag away, he takes off my other shoe. “Put that shirt on and we’ll get you to bed, Boss.” Without letting me answer, he leaves me alone, and I sit puzzled until I hear him moving around outside the door. With the knowledge that he could burst back in at any second, I remove my skirt and ripped blouse, replacing it with his flannel shirt. Everett is a good eight to ten inches taller than me and about twice as wide, so the shirt looks like a night gown on me, hitting just above my knees. I lift the sleeve to my nose and take in the intoxicating, masculine smell. Earth, soap, and all man. I fold my clothes, use a wet cloth to clean up my face, removing the black circles under my eyes, and open the door to find Everett filling the doorway, arms crossed and waiting.

“Jesus.” I jump painfully, making myself dizzy, and I’m caught with a strong arm on my waist. “I take it you aren’t driving me back to my car.”

Everett chuckles. “Not til tomorrow. You can’t drive right now, Boss. Let’s get to bed.” His eyes rake over me from head to toe and a noise comes from his chest, his hand tightening on my waist. Suddenly, all the air leaves my body, and the look on his face makes me blush from head to toe. “My shirt looks better on you.” I start to tug it back up on my shoulder, but his hand covers mine. “Leave it.” I always call the shots, never taking orders well, but Everett has me jumping to attention, doing anything he asks.

I’m scooped back up, arms going around his neck, and I let my head fall onto his chest, inhaling deeply. Sure, the man saved me and has gone out of his way to bandage me up and carry me around, but I shouldn’t be swooning like an idiot in his arms. I have walked on eggshells around every man in my life. My father, other employees of his company, and even teachers. Everett makes me feel safe, like nothing I do or say is wrong. I try not to think about how sexy he is and how badly I would love for him to take me in a very un-boss-like way. I’ve watched him work, and the idea of all those muscles being put to use on me is really appealing.

Across the hall is a bedroom, a huge one with a king-sized bed and a bay window. A flat-screen hangs on the wall and everything is a soothing dark blue. “Everett, you can’t know how much I appreciate what you did for me.” Everett sets me softly on the turned-down bed, grabbing an extra pillow to prop my leg.

“But?” His tone is dismissive, and he smiles like he’s being polite, not really asking.

“But I really should go home. My car is in the garage, and I don’t want it towed. I’m fine now.” My argument is weak at best, because I am not fine, but I can’t sleep in his bed. It’s strange and sudden; no matter how long I’ve fantasized about it, and no matter how safe I feel with Everett, it’s too much. If I’m honest, I barely know him.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Everett shakes his head, pulling the blanket over me. “You can’t drive on that ankle and may have a concussion.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch. I can’t kick you out of your bed.” I start to sit up but freeze when I see him unbutton his jeans and slowly unzip them. Holy shit. I should look away, but I can’t. He drops the jeans, leaving black boxers to cover the very large and obvious important parts, and reveals toned, muscled thighs. I get a great view of the back when Everett bends to grab some flannel pants. My mouth literally falls open, and I snap it closed again.

“Like what you see?” My eyes dart from his ass to his smirk, and I immediately look away, knowing I got caught staring. “And you’re not kicking me out of bed, so quit arguing.” Once his pants are on, Everett strips out of the shirt and my jaw drops, again. His shoulders and chest are sculpted to perfection, giving way to perfect chiseled abs and that V capable of making all women stupid. The whole muscular package is made even sexier by the light brown hair on his chest that turns into a trail that disappears under his waistband. Another white shirt replaces the one he peeled off and he catches me staring with my mouth hanging open like a moron … again. I can’t look away; it’s like a magnetic pull on my gaze as I move it back up to his stubbled face. He gives me a quick knowing wink and the lights go off. The bed dips and Everett sighs. My heart jumps into my throat.

“Everett …”

“If you need anything, wake me up, don’t try to get up. I don’t want you falling. If you start feeling dizzy, or sick, or start hurting worse, get me up. Good night, Boss.” I feel him shift and a large, rough hand grazes my cheek and neck, settling on my shoulder with an arm across my collarbone.

“Night,” I whisper. My heartrate slows, and a sense of calm washes over me. I close my eyes and try to rest, drifting off into a light sleep, the exhaustion hitting me hard, but soon, visions of the alley are flooding back to me. My eyes fly open, but the darkness in the room is just as terrifying. I was almost raped, I could have been killed, and it could happen again. I was completely helpless, and the realization is haunting.

I’m snapped out of my fear when an arm lays across my stomach. “Nothing like tonight will ever happen to you again, Morgan. I swear it.” I’m instantly calmer. In the eight months I’ve known Everett, he’s never used my name until now, and I believe every word coming from his mouth. With his reassurance, I settle back down next to him, inching closer, and fall asleep.