Enraged. Hurting. Violent.
She lifted a shoulder and fell silent, and that, it appeared, was that. Now he knew why her instincts for trouble were so honed. He also knew all his anger—at her, at himself—was justified.
Lauren Clegg was a good, good person.
Lauren Clegg was who he’d longed to be for over a decade now. A helper. A protector. Someone who noticed trouble and reacted quickly.
Which meant there was no fucking way she should have risked herself for him. But given those protector instincts, given how little she seemed to value her own comfort and safety, there was also no fucking way shewouldn’trisk herself for him.
“I talked to my lawyer while you were with the medic. I’m seeking an emergency restraining order against the asswipe who took you down tonight.” He leaned back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “According to her, he’ll probably be charged with assault and battery, plead no contest, and end up with community service and mandatory counseling.”
It wasn’t enough. Not when the sight of that motherfucker slamming into her was still playing on repeat behind his eyelids, and she kept absently rubbing her ribs. But at least they wouldn’t have to deal with statements or forms until tomorrow, because she’d already been through too much tonight.
She pursed her lips. “Does he have a history—”
“I’m not done.” The hem of her dress was lying crooked, bunched to one side, and he straightened it. “Lauren, listen to me. I’m touched by what you did. Genuinely. Thank you for protecting me.”
One corner of that generous mouth indented. “I suspect I’m about to hear abut.”
No, he would not make a pegging joke about hearing butts. Dammit.
“But unless the threat is down by my ankles, like it was tonight, youcan’tprotect me,” he told her. “You’re literally half my height, and—”
“That is not true. Literally.”
“—if he’d attacked anywhere higher, there’s no way you could have stopped him, and—”
“What are youtalkingabout? Do you expect attackers to leap over my head?”
“—I don’t want you hurt.”
She fell silent, and he did too, because there it was again. The sight of a large man ramming into her and knocking her off her feet, spitting and elbowing her, all while Alex tried in vain to get her out of harm’s way and prayed desperately that the man didn’t have a weapon.
Practicalities noted and summarily dismissed by his infuriating nanny, he went for the jugular. Guilt. He suspected she marinated in the stuff nightly, and he intended to add to the mix.
“I don’t want you hurt,” he repeated, “because Ron said my replacement minder would be much, much worse than you. Remember? And if your replacement is much, much worse, I don’t think I’ll be able to stay out of trouble. And if I can’t stay out of trouble—”
“Ron and R.J. will invoke your contract terms and get their lawyers involved.” She sighed. “I remember.”
“So I need you to protect yourself. For my sake. I don’t care much about you, but I care very much about myself.”
There. That should do it.
She emitted a sort of disgruntledhmph.
Then she angled herself toward him, and her shoulder brushed against his arm, and he shouldn’t feel it soprecisely. Every atom of contact sharp and distinct. But he did.
“You don’t fool me.” Her voice was low and sure, and if she extended her accusing forefinger another inch, he could bite the tip of it. “I talked to Desiree while the medic treated me. I know what you did to make the auction a success. I know all the auction items you supplied and all the people you personally called. I know you keep the vast majority of your charitable donations quiet, and after talking to Carah, Peter, and Maria during dinner, I know how your friends and colleagues feel about you.”
He dismissed that with a snort of contempt. “Of course the charity said nice things about me. I occasionally give them money. And actors don’t tend to bad-mouth their colleagues. That’s a good way not to find work ever again.”
They also stayed silent when fellow actors complained about directors and showrunners, no matter how justified those complaints might be. He knew that for a fact.
He also knew why. If you raised a fuss, you quickly found yourself persona non grata at casting calls. The necessity of that fuss didn’t mean a thing to the power brokers in Hollywood. Which explained why, when he somehow landed the role of Cupid despite theAll Good Mendebacle, he’d considered it a stroke of unbelievable good fortune. Then again, he was often an idiot.
Lauren—a fucking therapist, for God’s sake—should know that by now.
“I’m a thirty-nine-year-old man who dresses up and plays pretend for a living, and I’m paid an absurd amount of money to do so,” he told her. “That’s it. That’s all there is to know about me. No matter what you believe, I’m not trying to fool you, so don’t fool yourself.”
