Page 8 of Protected from Torment

Melissa’s expression jolts in recognition as she sees me. Then she gives me a shy smile that lights up her face.

Something grabs hold of my chest and squeezes.

It’s the same sensation I got when she smiled at me the first time. When she was still locked in my arms, so close I could feel her heart racing and the swell of her breasts⁠—

Nope. I’m not thinking about her breasts right now. Or any other part of her body.

Except it’s really hard not to think about her eyes when they’re looking straight at me.

And shit, they’re so blue.

Could they be contacts? Is that how she got such a striking color?

And her hair. She has long, dark spirals that fall halfway down her back, catching sparks of fire and gold as the light catches them. Could it be real, or a perm, like my mother used to get when I was a teenager?

The part of me that wants to deny this sudden draw I’m feeling towards Melissa grabs hold of it as evidence. Maybe it’s not natural, it reasons stubbornly. Maybe her eyes are a dull brown and her hair is stick-straight. Maybe the perfect swell of her breasts is fake.

Latching on, that stubborn part continues, Maybe she’s not naturally pretty, like Kaia was. Kaia, with her pale blonde hair and honey-colored eyes and slim figure that never put on weight no matter what she ate. Kaia was just herself. She never pretended to be something she wasn’t.

But my gut tells me Melissa isn’t, either.

And really, so what if she wears contacts or artificially colors her hair? Does that make her any less of a good person? Does it make me any less interested in her?

Wait. Who said I was interested?

My jaw tightens as my inner debate rages on.

Why are you looking at Melissa like that? You’re not here to pick up women. You’re here because the roads are too bad to get to your parents tonight. And you only feel a connection to her because of the circumstances.

Then the other side chimes in.

It’s okay to think she’s attractive—colored contacts or not. It’s okay to find her intriguing. Not many women would have jumped in to help like she did. And if her smile does things to you that you haven’t felt in years, what’s wrong with that?

I know what my teammates—and also my best friends—would say. They’d tell me to follow my gut. That if I’m feeling something for Melissa, I should be open to it.

As I stand just inside the pub entrance, arguing with myself over nothing—because it’s not like Melissa showed any interest in me to begin with—her smile droops. The light fades from her eyes. Her teeth dig into her lower lip. Then she ducks her head to stare at her phone. Long curls fall around her face, hiding it from me.

Guilt settles in.

Shit. What am I doing?

Staring at her, to start, which is rude at best and verging on creepy.

Not smiling back at her, which would be the polite thing to do.

Shit, why didn’t I go over to say hi? Ask how she’s doing? Find out if the scrapes the paramedics bandaged are doing okay—scrapes I caused, by the way, when I knocked her onto the ground. See if she needs anything?

After all, I know the area. I grew up in Saranac Lake, just about forty miles from here. I’m not a local, exactly, but I’ve driven through Long Lake more times than I can count. I haven’t lived here in years, but I still come back to visit my parents whenever I can. So if she needs something, I could help.

Go over there, I can hear Kaia saying in my ear. It doesn’t mean you’re going to propose to her. It just means you’d like to spend a little more time with her. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Kaia was always right, even when I didn’t want to admit it.

Just as I’m taking the first slow step across the room, I notice one of the four semi-drunk locals getting off his stool. His feet land on the ground with a heavy thud, and he sways before grabbing hold of the bar for balance. He laughs and says something to his friends, and in unison, their gazes all swivel towards Melissa.

That she’s drawing their attention isn’t a surprise. In the half-full pub, she’s easily the prettiest woman here. But I don’t like how they’re looking at her, especially the man on his feet. Their look isn’t friendly. It’s assessing. Predatory.

Sitting alone like she is, they probably think she’s an easy target. A stranger in town, all on her own, staying in a hotel room with minimal security…