Emerson is tiny in my arms. Impossibly small against my large frame, and when it comes time to put her into the passenger seat, I almost can’t bring myself to do it. I want to hold her against me for as long as I can as she leans on me for comfort. I can’t say anyone has ever done that before. I’m not the comforting type, in fact, my family would probably argue the opposite.
But Emerson is different. I knew it from the moment I saw her across the gym, and each day that has passed has just proved that to me.
Her entire body shakes as the adrenaline starts leaving her body. Her face is buried in my chest, hiding her expression from me, but I can feel it. The fear radiates from her, and I’m tempted to track that asshole down to teach him a lesson. To teach him not to mess with what belongs to me.
That thought almost has me stopping in my tracks. The idea of claiming her comes so naturally, I almost didn’t catch myself. But where I expect to feel panic, I feel peace. When I expect to drop her in the middle of the parking lot and get as far as humanly possible from the woman that has me feeling something, I hold her closer.
As if my body is moving on autopilot, I carefully place her into the seat and reach over to fasten the seat belt around her. Without even thinking about it, my fingers brush through her auburn hair, the soft strands fall against me and I itch to gather it in my fist.
Not yet, I tell myself.
I can’t do anything that might scare her more than she has already been scared today. It wouldn’t be fair, and it won’t win me any favors. As it is, I’m going to have an all-out fight on my hands when I claim her. She won’t like it. She won’t like it when I squash her independence, or when I demand to know where she is and what she’s doing at every moment of the day. But it’s the way it’s going to be. It’s the way it has to be.
I’m obsessed with Emerson. There are no two ways about it. No denying it. Every thought is about her. The way her hair falls around her face when she’s reading something, how the green of her eyes seems a different, unreal color every day I see her, and how her sass makes me so hard I can’t think straight. I like obedient women. Women who do as I say when I say it. I always have and I thought I always would, but there’s something about going head-to-head with Emerson and meeting my match, and it’s fucking addictive.
Everett is still working on the profile and getting very fucking sick of answering my calls every night for an update, but I need it. I need to know everything there is to know about my little spitfire, starting with who the fuck that guy manhandling her was.
I round the car and climb into the driver’s seat before peeling out of the parking lot. If I had it my way, I would be taking her to my place, with the best security system money can buy, but she doesn’t know me, she doesn’t know I’m staking my claim on her, and I know she’ll fight like a pissed off kitten if I push too hard too fast. So I drive to her place. I shouldn’t know where she lives, and the moment she puts the pieces together that I didn’t ask for her address, she’ll be suspicious and probably angry, but I don’t give a fuck. All I care about is getting her somewhere so I can check her over and make sure that asshole didn’t leave any marks on her.
The thought has my fists tightening around the steering wheel. The only marks that belong on Emerson’s creamy skin are mine, and the idea of seeing another man’s on her makes my vision blur with feral rage.
My eyes dart over to where Emerson is curled up in the passenger seat. Her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself. Instinctively, I reach over to touch her, needing her warmth just as much as she needs my comfort.
The car ride is quiet and thankfully short, and when we pull up out front of the diner she lives over, I suck in a harsh breath. It’s not the first time I’ve been here, not that I’ll ever admit that to her. I’ve spent a few nights in the last week sitting in the car across the street while she works in the diner, looking so fucking miserable I longed to stroll in, throw her over my shoulder and get her the fuck out of there.
The club where she works late at night is a bigger problem though. Why she needs three jobs while she’s studying is beyond me, and it’s going to stop the moment she’s mine, but the club will be the first one to go. It’s one of Russo’s businesses, and I hate the idea of her being anywhere near that slimeball, especially knowing he has his finger in the trafficking pie.
A vision of Emerson being sold makes nausea crawl up the back of my throat, but I quickly tamp it down. I don’t have time to think about it, and it’s not necessary because it will never fucking happen.
Emerson looks up at the diner and then at me, the pieces clicking together. “How did you know where I live?” she asks quietly. She isn’t mad though, and that surprises the hell out of me.
Whatever that fuckwit did has broken down some of the fire I have come to find endearing. I don’t like her subdued, not like I have all the others, but maybe that’s why they only lasted a night or two. Maybe I need someone that can go toe to toe with me and hold their own.
“It doesn’t matter.” I shrug and quickly push my door open before she can ask any follow-up questions. I make quick work of getting around to her side before she can get out on her own. Before she can argue, I scoop her into my arms again and head toward the side door to the apartment I shouldn’t know about but do.
“Keys.” I hold my hand in front of her while she’s balanced in my other arm.
Emerson stares at me for a long moment before digging around in her bag and handing them to me. Questions swirl around in her eyes, but she doesn’t ask them, and for that, I am glad. I don’t have the answers worked out. I had hoped I would have more time, that I would be able to ease her into this but not after what I’d seen. I can’t risk her, and therefore I don’t have time to tiptoe around the inevitable.
I unlock the door before forcing myself to place her on her feet on the other side of the front door. My eyes survey the apartment and each surface I take in only makes me want to pick her up and take her back to my place again. There are cracks in every wall, no doors between any of the rooms, and perhaps the most disturbing thing of all is how little of Emerson I see in the space. There are a few items of clothing thrown over the back of the couch, but that’s it. No photos. No art. Nothing. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this was some kind of safe house.
I take a deep breath and tamp down the urge to get her the fuck out of this shit hole, only barely managing to unclench my fists. Before I can stop myself, my hands are on her. I need to know if she’s hurt. I’m gentle even though my body screams at me to strip her as quickly as possible. All I can see is the pain that was on her face as I crossed the parking lot, and sickening anger overwhelms me. Is this what it’s like to care about someone else? To give a fuck about another human being.
“Rayne?” Emerson’s voice barely breaks through the urge to tear her clothes off. I’ve never stripped anyone with any other intent than getting them naked and sinking as deep into their tight holes as quickly as I can manage.
I can’t answer her though. I have one thought, one mission, and that’s all I can think about. My hands roam over her belly until they graze the hem of her sweater. A moment later I’ve pulled the knit over her head, leaving her in nothing but a camisole covering her top half, a shocked expression on her face.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Emerson tries to push my hands away, but I make quick work of gathering them up and holding them in one of mine.
“Stay still,” I growl as I rip her yoga pants down over her hips to her ankles. At least now she won’t be able to kick me. Lace panties cover her pussy, and although she’s struggling against my hold, I can smell her arousal. If I wasn’t so frantic about making sure she’s unharmed, the thought would have me hard as a fucking rock.
Emerson’s eyes flare with a mix of heat and fear as I push her against the wall, pinning her arms above her head. “Rayne, what are you doing?” Her voice wavers as my fingers slip beneath the fabric and inch it up to uncover her stomach. Her skin is so fucking soft under my touch I barely believe she’s real, but she is, and she’s all fucking mine.
“I’m making sure you’re not hurt,” I tell her like it’s obvious, but rationally I know it’s not. I know that every move I’ve made since I put her in my car hasn’t been rational, not that it makes a bit of difference.
“And you had to strip me for that? Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, ask?”
“I did ask,” I snap. “And you lied to me.” Gently, I brush my fingers over the bruises forming on her waist. Blinding rage tears through my body and all I can see is marks that aren’t mine marring her perfect skin. I imagine beating the life out of that asshole for putting his hands on my woman, watching as the life drains from his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t be the last, but it would be the first kill I ever enjoyed.
Emerson’s eyes drop to where my fingers are moving back and forth, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their path. She looks up at me, all but stopped struggling, either accepting I’m not going to let her go, or that I’m not going to hurt her. “I was in shock, I didn’t realize,” she whispers.
“Who is he?” I ask, the menacing tone in my voice startling her slightly.
“My ex,” she tells me simply, as if that answers all the lingering questions.
“What did he want?”
“Why do you care?” Emerson asks, some of the fight I expected from the start in her eyes. Part of me wants to piss her off more, to drag the clawing kitten out of her and enjoy every scratch she inflicts, but not right now.
“Because you’re mine, and I don’t take kindly to people touching what doesn’t belong to them.”
Emerson stares at me, and then she bursts into a fit of laughter like she’s never heard anything funnier in her life. “I am most definitely not your property, and my ex is none of your concern. I appreciate your help, really, I do, but that’s where this starts and ends.”
She pushes against my hold on her, but I simply tighten my grip around her wrist, not enough for it to hurt, but just so she knows how fucking serious I am. “When I ask a question, my sweet girl, I expect an answer, especially when it’s about your health and safety.”
Emerson looks like she can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. All the amusement that lit up her features a few moments ago is gone. She opens her mouth a few times to say something, but when nothing comes out, she closes it again.
“Now are you done, sweet girl?” I whisper into the space between us. “Can you put the claws away so I can make sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?”
A shiver runs through her entire body, and if I hadn’t already known she was turned on, I sure as fuck did now. Usually having that effect on a woman would make me a smug son of a bitch, but she has just the same amount of power over me, and that thought scares the shit out of me.
Emerson and I could come together like thunder and lightning, or like moths to a flame. I just had to hope neither of us was going to get burned.
