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“This isn’t over, Emerson,” Brad says through gritted teeth before turning on his heel and walking away.
I slump against the car, my body shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. I’ve taken self-defense classes, so many you would think I’d be able to think about fighting back, but the thought didn’t even fucking occur to me.
“Emerson.” Rayne crouches in front of me. His voice is soft, so different from a few moments ago. His fingers brush across my jaw, lifting my face until our eyes meet. “Are you okay?”
I close my eyes, unable to keep them locked with his intense stare.
“Look at me,” he demands, and my eyes shoot open at the command. Before I have a chance to analyze why the fuck I would comply with him so instinctively, he continues, “I asked you a question, I expect an answer.”
A shiver travels down my spine at the command in his even voice, my body reacting to him in a way I can’t remember it ever reacting to anyone in the past. In fact, I probably would have punched anyone else in the throat for speaking to me like this, but apparently not Rayne.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, barely loud enough for me to hear through my pounding heart. It’s only now that I realize my entire body is shaking like a leaf, but it’s not because I’m cold.
Rayne nods once, but he doesn’t move his fingers from my skin, instead moving them until his big palm covers my cheek. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.
I take another breath to calm my racing heart, except it’s not the fear that has it beating so hard I think it might jump clear from my chest. No, it’s Rayne’s touch that sets a fire in my core, my entire body heating from the most innocent of caresses.
“Not really. He was just holding me tightly, and it might bruise but I’m not sure.” My voice shakes and I hate it. I hate showing weakness, especially to someone like Rayne, someone who is so calm and collected. It makes me feel weak, and if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s weak. My legs shake so hard I’m surprised I haven’t collapsed in a pile on the ground, but somehow I manage to stay standing.
“I’ll give you a lift home.”
“No, that’s okay, I’ll drive myself. Thank you for your help.”
Rayne stares at me. “I wasn’t asking.”
And a moment later I find myself being cradled in his arms as he takes long strides across the parking lot toward his fancy SUV. I don’t know anything about cars, but I know this one cost a fuck ton of money.
“Rayne, I need my car. I need it for work tonight,” I argue.
“I’ll have someone come get it.” There’s no room for argument and so I do the only thing I can. I allow my head to rest against his hard chest, feeling safer than I can ever remember feeling, and a sense of calm that seems so out of place after what just happened washes over me.
6
Rayne
Emerson is tiny in my arms. Impossibly small against my large frame, and when it comes time to put her into the passenger seat, I almost can’t bring myself to do it. I want to hold her against me for as long as I can as she leans on me for comfort. I can’t say anyone has ever done that before. I’m not the comforting type, in fact, my family would probably argue the opposite.
But Emerson is different. I knew it from the moment I saw her across the gym, and each day that has passed has just proved that to me.
Her entire body shakes as the adrenaline starts leaving her body. Her face is buried in my chest, hiding her expression from me, but I can feel it. The fear radiates from her, and I’m tempted to track that asshole down to teach him a lesson. To teach him not to mess with what belongs to me.
That thought almost has me stopping in my tracks. The idea of claiming her comes so naturally, I almost didn’t catch myself. But where I expect to feel panic, I feel peace. When I expect to drop her in the middle of the parking lot and get as far as humanly possible from the woman that has me feeling something, I hold her closer.
As if my body is moving on autopilot, I carefully place her into the seat and reach over to fasten the seat belt around her. Without even thinking about it, my fingers brush through her auburn hair, the soft strands fall against me and I itch to gather it in my fist.
Not yet, I tell myself.
I can’t do anything that might scare her more than she has already been scared today. It wouldn’t be fair, and it won’t win me any favors. As it is, I’m going to have an all-out fight on my hands when I claim her. She won’t like it. She won’t like it when I squash her independence, or when I demand to know where she is and what she’s doing at every moment of the day. But it’s the way it’s going to be. It’s the way ithasto be.
I’m obsessed with Emerson. There are no two ways about it. No denying it. Every thought is about her. The way her hair falls around her face when she’s reading something, how the green of her eyes seems a different, unreal color every day I see her, and how her sass makes me so hard I can’t think straight. I like obedient women. Women who do as I say when I say it. I always have and I thought I always would, but there’s something about going head-to-head with Emerson and meeting my match, and it’s fucking addictive.
Everett is still working on the profile and getting very fucking sick of answering my calls every night for an update, but I need it. I need to know everything there is to know about my little spitfire, starting with who the fuck that guy manhandling her was.
I round the car and climb into the driver’s seat before peeling out of the parking lot. If I had it my way, I would be taking her to my place, with the best security system money can buy, but she doesn’t know me, she doesn’t know I’m staking my claim on her, and I know she’ll fight like a pissed off kitten if I push too hard too fast. So I drive to her place. I shouldn’t know where she lives, and the moment she puts the pieces together that I didn’t ask for her address, she’ll be suspicious and probably angry, but I don’t give a fuck. All I care about is getting her somewhere so I can check her over and make sure that asshole didn’t leave any marks on her.
The thought has my fists tightening around the steering wheel. The only marks that belong on Emerson’s creamy skin are mine, and the idea of seeing another man’s on her makes my vision blur with feral rage.
My eyes dart over to where Emerson is curled up in the passenger seat. Her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself. Instinctively, I reach over to touch her, needing her warmth just as much as she needs my comfort.
