Page 50 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

He probably hates me all the way to his marrow again, except this time, it truly is my fault.

I broke a woman’s fingers and kicked a man in the crotch. I’ve done nothing but cause him troubles.

But Lola is safe. That’s all that matters.

I take a deep breath, kiss her scrunched forehead, and release Artur’s lower back.

He doesn’t loosen his arms. I wriggle my hand to my face and wipe my tears away before lifting my head.

The fury in his golden orbs isn’t directed at me. I follow his line of sight by craning my neck and stiffen as the man struggles to his feet.

“M-Mr. O’Brian, that woman—”

“Was protecting my daughter.”

Artur’s chest rumbles with the low warning in his tone.

“What?! That’s your daughter? I-I didn’t know,” the man stutters.

The woman sobs not-so-quietly on the floor beside him. He turns a glare her way before taking a menacing step toward her.

The crowd parts as six uniformed men call out their arrival. The man pales impossibly further.

“You have the right to remain silent,” the first policeman says.

As the couple is arrested, I wait for Artur’s inevitable pulling away, but his arms remain locked around Lola and me. Even as he exchanges a few words with the police, he doesn’t let go.

His thumb rubs up and down my arm. He looks down for the first time. My heart skips a beat. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Put both arms around Lola,” he murmurs.

I wipe away an errant tear before complying.

He removes one arm from around me, unbuttons his coat, shucks it off his shoulders, drapes it over my front with the collar high enough for me to duck under, and sweeps my legs out from under me.

Cradled to his chest with his daughter wrapped in my arms, I hide my face in his coat as he carries us out of the room.

Unable to decipher whether the coat was meant to shield Lola and me from prying eyes or prevent further embarrassment for him, I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes, savoring his nearness as though it may be the last time ever.

Exhaustion, his smooth, steady strides, and Lola’s comfortable weight on my chest lull me into a doze.

I jerk awake at the sound of a door closing.

A lock clicks. Artur takes a few more steps, shifts his grip, then sits down with us in his lap on what must be a couch since cushions support my legs. Lola trembles and clings to me.

Artur folds the collar of his suit coat down to reveal my face. I study him as he studies me, too scared to break the silence but too desperate for an answer to look away.

“Is Lola okay?” he asks.

“I don’t know. She’s shaking,” I say.

Worry creases his brow.

“I can feel that. What happened? Why did she scream?”

I search my memory and can only think of one thing that might have launched her into panic mode.

“I… I think she was startled by the intercom.”