Chapter Eight

Cliff

It’s strange to have someone in my space. She’s wandering around, her large eyes taking in everything even as sadness clouds her features. The black hair is startling, an odd change but not a bad one. I know what she’s doing. Trying to hide, trying to look different.

I grab the gun from the hidden spot and turn to her. She winces back, her eyes large and terrified.

I take it by the barrel and offer it out to her.

She stares at it, then up at me, her whole body pressing back to the wall. “I don’t know how to use that,” she whispers.

Well, fuck.

I close the gap between us. “This is the safety.” I click it. “Leave it on until you’re ready to shoot.” Clicking it back on, I look down at her, realizing she’s so close I can feel the body heat radiating off her tall frame. Her scent—soft, sweet, and clean with the sting of fresh hair dye—surrounds my senses and clouds my thinking.

“Don’t shoot unless you mean to kill,” I tell her, and she winces again.

Damn it.

I set the gun on the table and grab her shoulders and give her a rough shake. She stares up at me, terror in her eyes.

“If it’s your life or theirs, fucking fight with everything you’ve got,” I snarl, and she nods, her eyes never leaving mine. She pulls out of my grip and picks up the gun gingerly by the handle.

“What do I do?” she asks, her wide eyes trusting as she studies me.

I step behind her and wrap her hands around the stock the right way. With her pressed close to my body, I feel the sexy curve of her ass pressed to my cock and keep tight control over my body.

With my chin over her shoulder, I make her stretch her arms out as we aim the gun. “Line up the sights,” I say.

“This?” she says, her finger moving to point at the front sight.

“And this,” I say, pointing to the back one. “Put that front one in this groove and you’ll hit what you’re aiming at.”

She holds the gun, her finger straying to the safety. But she doesn’t touch it. “So safety, line up, pull the trigger.”

“Squeeze the trigger,” I correct.

“Squeeze the trigger,” she repeats like she’s committing every detail to memory. She lowers the gun. “Thank you,” she whispers, her body leaning back into me like she needs the support.

I slide a hand around her belly, worried she’s about to faint. Her voice sounds breathy, like she’s not feeling well. Or like she’s feeling really good.

“Don’t,” I say, and she turns around to look up at me in surprise, her pretty lips parting a little.

“Don’t what?” she asks, looking confused.

“Get attached,” I say, looking away from her. With quick steps, I head to my bedroom and close my door. I need to change. Need to bring my pulse down. Need to stop thinking about how nice her ass felt pressed to my cock. Need to stop thinking about how long it’s been since I had a woman in my bed.

Too fucking long, obviously. But I can’t get involved with this girl. That’s not what I’m going for. I’m not trying to replace the bastard in her life. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll protect her. But I’m not going to let her fall in love with me.

***

On the other side of the wall, I hear her crying and curse under my breath. Since I’d brought her over here this morning, she’s held together pretty well. She cruised through my collection of paperbacks and decided to read curled up in the window seat of the bay windows overlooking the Sound.

I’d put her in the spare bedroom, suddenly glad for what has always felt like a waste of space. I never use the guest room anymore. I’d gotten the apartment with the foresight that I’d have guys crashing regularly.

They did for a while.

But I’ve been working so hard and so much these last few months since Dakin and Camille got together, I just haven’t had the time for hanging out.

Not knowing what to do is a shitty feeling. Should I try to comfort her? Or let her cry it out? She didn’t seem mad before that I ignored her when she was crying. I don’t feel like she’s doing it to manipulate me. The poor thing has been through the ringer. She’s earned a good cry if that’s what makes her feel better.

But I’ve got another idea.

I walk into her room, my eyes already adjusted to the dark. She’s curled up in bed and doesn’t hear me come in. When I’m at her bedside, she suddenly notices me and sits up.

I clamp a hand over her face and press her down into the bed, pinning her with my body. Her face is wet with tears, and she cries out, the sound muffled by my hand.

“No one will hear you scream,” I growl, and her whole body goes stiff. She needs to do more. She needs to fucking fight. I told her to fucking fight with everything she’s got.

I back off, letting her go, but block her door. She’s on her feet in an instant. She throws a wild punch at me with all the finesse of a drunk panda bear.

I easily grab her fist and see the flash of surprise in her eyes before I twist her arm behind her back and push her upper body down on the bed, bending her over.

She whimpers, and I know I’m hurting her, but just a little bit. It’s a warning. Suddenly she shifts, and again, I’m aware of her ass against my cock.

“Teach me,” she says in that haunting, raspy voice. “Please.”

“Good girl,” I growl, releasing her with effort.

She stands up as I back off a step. I expect to see hate in her features, some bitterness for what I just put her through. That was part of my intent, to make sure to push her away and think I’m a monster.

But there’s no hate, no anger. She’s bright-eyed, bouncing on her feet like a boxer, shaking out her wrist. And I know I’m in deep shit. I like this girl.