Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)(35)
Author: Jen Frederick

My trunk took the most abuse. I’ve got darkening bruises on my ribs and upper thighs. Tiny looks anguished. “How could you make love to me while you were all beat up?”

“Truthfully, I couldn’t feel it. The urge to be inside you overrode any other sensory input.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “You should never have touched me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because if I had, you wouldn’t have let me touch you,” I answer with a touch of asperity.

Throwing up her hands, she turns and rummages around in the closet until she finds a spare set of sheets. I follow her meekly into the bedroom. “You could have mentioned something when you arrived for dinner.”

“I didn’t see a moment when I could interject ‘Hey, got mugged down on Hudson Street’ into the conversation.”

“Down by your office?” She pauses in the act of shaking out the bottom sheet.

“In the alley next to my building.”

“This is my fault, isn’t it?”

In two quick strides, I’m around the bed and have her in my arms. “How could this possibly be your fault?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shit, Tiny. Maybe Richard Howe figured out I’m trying to ruin him. If anything, I should be sorry for bringing you into this mess.”

At the mention of Howe’s name, her body stiffens. “I hate that man.”

“Me too, but it’s late and we both have shit to do tomorrow. Let’s make this damn bed because we’ve had a long day and I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted.” I nip at her neck.

“Fine,” she says grumpily. “When should we go to see Mom?”

“With Hedder? Never.”

“But Ian, he asked. I know he’s bad news, but I don’t think a graveside visit is going to do much harm. You’re overreacting.”

I bite down on my tongue and swallow my first harsh response, which is that she’s being far too benevolent.

“Your beloved mother died just a few weeks ago. It’s difficult to make rational decisions right now. I know. I’ve been there.” I run my hand through her hair, smoothing the strands along my chest. “You want to be with people who cared for her, who’ll bring her alive for you. I made a lot of terrible choices after my mom died. I wish someone had been there for me.”

She thinks about this. “Malcolm will go with us. Or at least that’s what Mitch said.”

My patience snaps. “Oh, great. Your drug dealing, pimp stepbrother will go with your con artist stepfather. That’s not a disaster in the making.”

“Let’s not forget how we met,” she replies tartly.

“We met on the street between 7th and 52nd.”

“Not the second time.”

“Right, he sent you to me,” I point out.

“He didn’t know what you needed,” she argues.

I want to shake her. Is she being deliberately obtuse? “I went to him because he runs a high class escort service, and he sent you to me. He tried to f**king sell you.” I’m outraged on her behalf. Just the thought of Malcolm treating her like a whore makes me want to drive to Queens so I can break him in half. My hold on her turns rigid in an effort not to hurt her while I fantasize about pounding Malcolm until his face is bloody and unrecognizable.

“Then I should be just as afraid of you,” she retorts.

“I turned you down,” I shoot back. “I asked you to dinner. I wanted to date you, not buy you.”

“What’s all of this, then? My clothes? This home? The driver?” She waves her arms around, trying to gesture at everything.

“It’s me loving you,” I roar.

Her chest is heaving. I collapse on the pillows behind me, my arms spread in complete surrender. “Bunny, I f**king love you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Do you really think they’d hurt me?” She scuttles up against the headboard and folds her knees under her chin. I hear the pain in her voice, the loneliness that I can’t chase away—not even with all the money in the world. It makes me feel helpless and angry, but I know she doesn’t need that now or ever. I shouldn’t ever raise my voice to her. I lay my palm next to her thigh, hoping she’ll touch it and give me a sign of forgiveness.

“Not intentionally.” She doesn’t want to believe what little family she has left would be so cruel to her, but these are not good men. One tried to prostitute her out without her knowing, and the other returned to try to profit from her mother’s death.

“You can’t wrap me up in bubble wrap. I’m not going to sit here in the warehouse and eat chocolates all day.”

“I’ve not ever asked you to do that.” But I’m going to protect her with everything in me, even if it pisses her off.

“Hmmph,” she snorts. “I’m capable of taking care of myself. I was doing it fine before you came along.”

Is the implication that she would also be fine if I left? Because that isn’t happening.

“I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore,” I say, gathering the weak reins of my self-control.

Her hand drifts down and lightly touches my palm. I remain motionless, allowing her to sort through her feelings. Her index finger traces the lines of my palm, an erotic feeling if there ever was one. I shift slightly as the blood starts collecting in my groin. She can crank my engine with a feather-light touch. Doesn’t she realize how much power she has in her smallest finger? I’d crawl across glass to make her happy, and I’d endure a thousand nights of cold shoulders and a sexless bed if it would keep her safe.

“I know that they aren’t concerned with my best interests like you are. And I know Mitch wants something.” She stretches out her fingers and interlaces them with mine. I close my hand around hers. It’s reassuring to hear her acknowledge Hedder’s bad intent. “I can’t deny him the trip, though. Mom wouldn’t want that. Be vigilant but kind, she would say.”

“That sounds like Sophie, wise and generous.” My thumb rubs along hers. “Will you let me come, then? Just as an escort. I’ll stay in the car. You won’t even know I’m there.” But I’ll be out of the car in a flash should anyone cause you to stumble. Before they blink, I’ll be on them.

“If I say no?” she asks.

“I’ll follow you anyway,” I admit.