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She peers up at me from under her eyelashes, "Did you sing—"

“While my Guitar Gently Weepsby The Beatles?" I crack my neck. "Seems that way."

"Why?" She asks.

"It worked, didn't it?" I scowl, "Couldn’t stand by and watch you have a bloody meltdown."

She huffs, "I meant, why The Beatles?"

"Why not The Beatles?"

"You hate The Beatles."

"I hate tears even more, besides, when a naked woman—"

"—Almost-naked," she protests.

I chuckle, "Almost nakedwoman throws herself at me… I had to catch you. I couldn’t have you hurting yourself."

Her gaze flickers.

I fit my knuckles under her chin, so she has no choice but to glance at me.

"Only I am allowed to do that, Gigi."

She swallows.

"No one else can hurt you, except me," I lower my chin, "you feel me?"

Her pupils dilate. Her chest heaves, then she nods. "I understand… Sir."

My dick hardens at that.Shit, what am I doing, cuddling her? I fucking hummed a song for her? Bloody-fucking-hell!

I lean forward and she presses a hand into her chest, "It’s okay, Saint, I won’t tell."

I frown.

"I won’t tell the Seven or anyone else. It’s our secret."

"What the fuck you talking about?"

She darts me a look from under those sooty eyelashes, "That you secretly have a thing for The Beatles."

"I don’t have a 'thing' for those knobheads."

"Yet you knew the words to their song."

"Who doesn’t?"

She stares at me.

"What?" I scowl.

"Not everyone knows the correct words to that particular song."

Shit, is it getting hot in here?

"Admit it." She sits up in my lap.