Holy crap, she’d just been saved by a Greek god.
Charlotte’s logical mind knew that wasn’t right—she didn’t believe in gods, little “g” or big “G”—but a living embodiment of every ancient Greek statue of a very masculine god stood before her. His bright ice-blue eyes were earnest and intelligent and… kind was the only other word she could muster. Like he cared deeply about things, and at the moment, the thing he cared most about was her. Enough to break down her damn door to stop Jerry from—
And that’s where her mind stalled out. Sputtered out all thought, almost reflexively—she knew it was a defensive move, her brain sheltering her from the painful memories of what her ex did to her, repeatedly, but she forced herself to name it. Rape. Craig had raped her. Not just once, but an endless series, that somehow were always her fault, and that sometimes came with fists that knocked her nearly unconscious through part of it. Sometimes, that was actually better…. if “better” was a word you could even apply to the horror. And now Jerry—fucking Jerry—would have done the same thing to her. Or tried to.
She looked at the knife in her hand, and it twitched so badly she almost dropped it on her own foot. She would have killed him. She could see it now. Somehow, someway, she would have made her way to the kitchen and found the knife and killed Jerry. Either before or after or during… she didn’t know, but she could picture it so vividly… then a full-body shudder made her hand convulse again.
She slowly put the knife back in the drawer.
The Greek god was at her side, suddenly. She’d almost forgotten he was there, but strangely, he didn’t frighten her. Even with his super-muscular body—the t-shirt did nothing to hide his broad, well-muscled chest—she felt utterly safe in his towering presence. In spite of the fact that he basically busted down the door. And she vaguely remembered him touching her, just for a moment, but only to help her up from the floor.
And then she’d freaked.
“You’re in shock,” he said gently. “Perhaps you should sit down.”
She nodded. Or at least, she thought she did. A haze in her mind made everything fuzzy around the edges. She tried to shuffle toward the couch, but her legs weren’t working right. She stumbled, but before she could even catch herself by gripping the counter, the Greek god had swept her up in his arms and was carrying her across the room.
She just stared up at him, her mouth hanging open. His arms were like iron bands, covered in skin softer than a baby’s. His gaze was fixed on her couch, and before she could work words out of her mouth, he had set her down on it—propped in the corner so she could sit, then he retreated to the far end of the couch.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, but it was so epically inadequate, she just shut her mouth—so it wouldn’t hang open, and it wouldn’t clumsily say anything more.
The intensity of his gaze was pure concern, and he seemed to be breathing heavily… although him carrying her across the room couldn’t possibly have winded him. That man was made of muscle.
He dropped his gaze from her and scrubbed a hand through his short, almost white-blond hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you like that—”
“No, it’s okay,” she gushed out. Holy shit, he just saved her life, and he was worried about carrying her across the room? There was no question in her mind that he’d saved two people today—her from Jerry and his fucking idea that he could just rape her if he wanted like she was a thing he could simply take and use.
Just like Craig. She shuddered, uncontrollably. Again.
But her rescuer also saved Jerry from being stabbed to death at some point. Because that would have happened. She was sure of it, even now, with how close to the edge she was. With how unsteady she felt. How close to breaking for good…
On top of all that, this ridiculously gorgeous man at the end of her couch probably saved her work as well—because she’d have either been a traumatized wreck or in jail.
Or both.
How do you thank someone for something like that?
“Are you really my neighbor?” What? Fuck, she should have kept her mouth shut. What was wrong with her?
He frowned, and it looked wrong on him. Like something that beautiful should never be sad. “I live very close. Two doors down. I’m around all the time. I… work at home.” He seemed to struggle with this like maybe he was shy about his personal life. Why was she even prying like this?
“I… thank you for…” She gestured to the broken down door, but her hand was shaking again, so she stopped. She pulled in a deep breath, and that helped. A little. “Thank you for stopping him.” She couldn’t manage more than that at the moment, but when she had her wits again, she needed to find a real way to thank this man. Wait… “What’s your name?”
“Tajael.” Then he winced like he hadn’t meant to tell her. Like it had just slipped out.
“Is that your real name?” It was odd. Nothing she’d heard before. But if he was in the business of guarding people, then maybe he didn’t want his real name out there. “Don’t worry,” she added quickly. “I won’t tell anyone.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and holy shit—she thought he was beautiful when he was serious. That smile was like the clouds parting and a ray of golden sunshine raining down. It dazzled her mind and scrambled her thoughts.
“It’s all right,” the man—Tajael—said. “The people I guard are the ones who need to be kept safe, not me. My name is no secret.”
The way he spoke… so odd, just like his name. Her curiosity was roused, but it would be terribly rude to ask. Where are you from? What kind of name is Tajael? Why do you talk like you’ve stepped out of an ancient tale about warriors and battles? She struggled for something innocuous to say, but she was lost in a sea of scrambled thoughts and reactions. And most shockingly of all, it wasn’t just her curiosity that was aroused—strange flushes were running up and down her body. Could be panic, or shock, or leftover adrenaline… but damn there was something incredibly sexy about the way the man just sat on her couch, alert but calm, totally confident yet not at all arrogant or leering. His eyes were glued to her face, studying her with great concern.
Maybe he was making sure she wasn’t going to pass out or something. “I’m okay,” she said, but it was a total lie, and he wasn’t fooled in the slightest.
His small bit of smile vanished. “Your cheeks are flushed. Your eyes are dilated. Your hands are still shaking, and I can hear your heart racing.”
What? “You can?” Somehow the intriguing possibility that this sexy man could hear her heartbeat from the other end of the couch overruled everything else.
He squeezed his eyes shut, just briefly, like once again, he hadn’t meant to say out loud quite what he did. “It was a figure of speech.” He hesitated. “What I mean is that you’re definitely not okay, and I’m hesitant to leave you in this state. Especially with a broken door. Do you have a physician you can call? Or can I take you somewhere for medical attention?” He had that awkward look again like he wasn’t sure the right words to use. His pale skin and strange accent… maybe he was Norwegian or Swedish or from one of those Scandinavian countries where they grew gorgeous tall blond men, but English was his second language? Somehow that didn’t fit.
“No, I’m really… Okay, I’m not fine. But I will be. Eventually. I just need...” Damn, she really didn’t have any alcohol in the apartment, and now would be an excellent time for a very large glass of wine. She had been very careful about not self-medicating after the divorce. Alcoholism was a thing that ran in her family, plus when she lost her mom—well, that was a drunk driver with three times the legal limit in his blood. And with Craig… for a while, her nightly bottle of wine was all that kept her going. She stopped as soon as she realized how bad it was, but still. She knew the stats—she was at risk.
“You need rest and perhaps a meal.” He spoke more authoritatively now, like taking care of her this way was more in his wheelhouse.
“Yeah. You’re right. Rest first, though.” If she ate anything right now, it would come right back up.
His gaze flicked to the door lying on the floor and the empty doorway where it once stood. Then his attentive eyes came right back to hers. “I have some tools in my apartment. I should be able to repair the door.”
“Oh, no, you’ve already done so much—”
“I insist.” And the way he said it was so familiar… just like Daxon, earlier, saying she needed more security. Only he thought the threat was from the streets, not her colleague a few cubicles down. Tajael at least understood where the real danger lay.
Besides, she was suddenly weary down to her bones and in no shape to argue. “Okay. Fine. Just, whenever you can do it is great. No rush.”
“I’ll take care of it immediately.” He ventured a small smile. “I do personal security, remember? This is very insecure. It… bothers me.”
That wrenched the tiniest of laughs out of her. “Okay, well, if it helps with your security OCD, by all means…” She vaguely waved at the mess of a door. Whatever he did would be great, but it would just be a patchwork for now. She’d have to contact the landlord or something to fix it for real. Ugh, what a mess. Even the thought of that made her shoulders sag, and her eyelids droop. Sleep sounded like an awesome option at the moment.
Tajael was suddenly looming over her. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just… tired.”
“Do you need me to carry you to bed?” Then he suddenly looked stricken at that, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Again. Why was he so twitchy about things he said to her?
“No, no.” She waved him off. “I can get there on my own.” But as she struggled up from the couch, it was clear her legs were on some kind of strike. Tajael held her elbow—gently, but with that same raw power she felt before—and that was just the support she needed.
She managed to stand. Walking appeared a different challenge. She leaned on him, and he accepted it with a slight touch at the small of her back for more balance. With his help, she shuffled toward the bedroom.
“This is totally embarrassing,” she mumbled. “Normally, I’m stronger than this.” Those strange flushes were running around her body again, centered especially where he touched her.
“I know.”
She peered up at him.
“I mean, I can tell,” he said, awkward again. “A woman like you has an inner strength. A solid goodness that carries you through the difficulties that life brings.”
She just gaped at him. How could he know anything like that about her? But more importantly… what kind of man says those things? The flushes were virtually setting her body on fire now. “You just met me,” she managed to mumble as they shuffled into her bedroom.
She was weak. This man was escorting her to her bed. He was incredibly strong, and if he had a mind to, he could do anything he liked to her. Hurt her in ways she was sure she wouldn’t survive. Instead, he pulled back the comforter on her bed and gently helped her into it.
And told her she was strong. And good.
Tears came to her eyes and leaked out before she could even think to stop them. She ducked her head into the pillow, embarrassed.
“Sleep.” His voice was soft, but it was so pretty, it was almost like a song.
At this point, she didn’t need convincing… her eyes were already closing.
“I’ll try not to wake you with the repairs of the door. Make sure you eat when you wake.”
She felt him move away from the bed. “Wait,” she said, eyes still closed. So hard to open them. “How will I reach you?”
There was a pause—too long. She struggled to open her eyes. He stood at the foot of her bed with an anguished look on his face.
Finally, he said, “Two doors down. Just knock. I’m always there.”
She frowned, her mind fuzzy. “No phone?”
A tiny smile took hold of him. “No phone. They’re not secure.”
She couldn’t decide if that made sense or not, but she nodded anyway, and her head sank back into the pillow. She didn’t hear him leave because sleep was too busy rushing up and dragging her down…
When she awoke again, the light in her room was out, but the one from the bathroom in the hall threw a slice of yellow across her bed. Her body hurt—like every single muscle had been bruised. She decided it must be the tight ball she had curled into in her sleep as if she could ward off all the trauma that way. No nightmares, though. The clock said a couple hours had passed.
She gingerly climbed out of bed, her bare foot cool on the carpet. When she reached the front of the apartment, she just stared. The front door was fixed. Not just fixed… but perfect. As if it had never been damaged. With an extra lock on it that hadn’t been there before, one that could be locked from the inside only. She shuffled over and latched it closed. Was her private-security neighbor an expert carpenter as well? Or did he call someone in? Even so, how in the world did he get it done so fast?
She really needed to find a way to repay him. Not that she truly could, but she had to do something to acknowledge this. Then she turned to the kitchen, and stopped and stared again. A meal was laid out on the small kitchenette glass table. A steaming bowl of creamy soup accompanied by a tiny loaf of crusty bread. Chicken in an elaborate sauce, plus asparagus on the side. It looked grilled. What in the…
Tears sprang to her eyes again as she stumbled to the table. How did he do this? There was no note, no sign of him, only a door that was restored and a meal that was making her mouth ache simply looking at it. She couldn’t do anything but sit with her hands over her mouth and collect herself for a moment. No one had taken care of her like this since… not since her mom died. And she was only ten when that happened. After that, it had always been her taking care of everyone else, including her dad. Being careful. Making sure everyone was happy so no one got angry and lost their patience and did things they would later apologize for.
But this? No one had ever done this. Not for her.
She pulled her hands away from her face and brushed away the tears.
And then she dug in and ate every last bite.