Chapter Nine

Addie

That feeling—a fluttering excitement—I’d felt when he’d pushed me down and shocked his hips tight to my ass becomes a hum in my core as he looks me up and down.

I’m worried he’s going to turn me down. “I’ll pay you,” I say as the ache in my wrist dulls to nothing. “Please teach me.” What he knows could save my life. Because he’d proven that I won’t always have a gun.

And when he’d told me no one would hear me scream, I was conflicted. Part of me was terrified, of course. He’s terrifying, even though something whispers deep inside me that he’d never hurt me.

I shake my wrist. Okay, he might hurt me, but that was to prove a point. And he proved his point all right. I need to know how to protect myself. He knows how.

I hold my breath, hoping he’ll decide to help me one more time.

And the thought that he had all the power in the world to take advantage of me or hurt me floods my mind. He chose to let me go. My cheeks sting pink as I notice my panties are a bit more damp than they should be.

The feelings he inspires in me are confusing, and exciting, even contradictory. He’s an enigma. But I sense good in him. He doesn’t hesitate to act. But his intentions to me seem pure, kind even.

And he’d told me not to get attached.

Well, that ship might have already sailed.

And I never want to let anyone scare me again. Not him, not the guys back home. Not Arlo.

“Fine.” He’s gruff, and my heart skips in my chest.

“That hold you had me in,” I say, but he shakes his head. I push on anyway. “How could I have gotten out of it?”

“Kick.” He’s not offering much more.

So I step between him and the bed, offering my arm behind my back again. “Show me,” I say, and he grabs my hand and drops me in an instant.

I hit the bed, my breath leaving in a whoosh as my body responds to him. It feels like every nerve has hummed to life. I’m turned on and excited, but also curious about the hold.

He’d said kick.

I bring my foot up and he grunts, his whole body tensing. And I realize what I’ve done. “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” I say as his hand releases mine, but his weight pins me as he doubles over.

I put my hand over his where his fingers are splayed on the rumpled bedspread. Slipping my fingers between his because it feels natural, I turn my head to the side and see he’s a bit red.

“That’ll work on women too?” I ask, feeling bad I’d just kicked him in the balls, pretty damn hard.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his breath tight.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling bad I’d hurt him when he’s here helping me. I wiggle a little, feeling his weight pressing me into the bed. It feels… good. Really good. I’m warm and there’s a tingling low in my belly.

Suddenly, his weight is gone and I’m free.

“What about when you were on top of me with your hand on my mouth?” I ask, standing up and turning to face him once more. But some part of me is sorry he’s gone.

He takes my right hand and shows me with his; palm flat, fingers curled just on themselves. I mimic it with my hand, and he stands in front of me, his hand covering my mouth. With his other hand, he takes my wrist and moves my hand fast and hard toward his nose in an upward motion.

“That’ll break his nose and blind him,” he says powerfully in the dark. He releases me, and I nod. “That’s enough for tonight,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping close and pulling him into a tight hug. He’s stiff, not returning the embrace, but I cling to him and bury my face in his neck. He’s all male, spicy and warm in my nose.

He relaxes a little, and his hands settle on my hips, not quite embracing me. He feels more like he’s ready to push me away, but he doesn’t.

I let him go, and he leaves as silently as he came.

Staring after him, I struggle to sort out all the feelings he brings out in me. He doesn’t talk much, but that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. He says what he means and not a word more.

He doesn’t lie or try to confuse with flowery words. He doesn’t offer cruel words cleverly cloaked with sugary compliments. He’s straightforward, doesn’t try to hide his true meaning.

It’s refreshing.

And his actions speak louder than any words could. He used skills to bring me down and promptly taught me to counter them after making his point. Without hesitation.

He wants me to be safe. He will teach me to protect myself rather than be some Prince Charming who protects me like I’m some damsel in distress.

It speaks volumes of his character.

He’s sexy as fuck. He’s kindhearted, if gruff and prickly on the outside. He’s real. And his effect on my heart rate and body is pretty profound, considering nobody has ever made me feel that way.

Something about his power—and choice not to use it against me—is too fucking sexy.

I climb back in bed, willing my heart to slow. I’d been a mess when he came in, crying my eyes out as quietly as I could, feeling like my heart was being squeezed in a vice. I’d felt like I was dying. Like maybe death would be more merciful than pushing my problems on this man, on anyone.

My head hits the pillow, and I stare up at the ceiling in the dark. I wonder what made him the man he is. He’s strange, there’s no arguing that. But not in a bad way. What made this man so short with words and to the point? Clearly he’s used to people listening.

And he said he’s not a cop. I believe him. Why would he lie about it?

But he was clearly taking someone in when I bumped into him in that elevator. The guy was zip-tied cop-style.

I owe the guy my life—twice, I think; once for honking at me when I was falling asleep at the wheel, and again when he stopped today and took me in—and I know pretty much nothing about him. Except my gut says I can trust him. I think I like him.

And it dawns on me that I’m in trouble.