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“Maybe you’re not giving her enough credit.”
Taking London’s hand, I led her to the guest room. It was styled in shades of cream and gray. The wall behind the bed was covered with a huge painting of flowers.
“Your bag with your clothes and things is over there.” It was resting on an armchair. “Take a shower and change. I’ll come back to check on you.”
“Thanks.”
Back in the living room, I checked my phone. My inbox was filled with emails. I’d had to reschedule my afternoon meetings, and my assistant hadn’t been happy about it. I sent Austin a message and asked him to clear my day tomorrow. Something I don’t think I’d ever asked him to do before. He’d probably have heart failure.
I replied to a few messages. I thrived on running my numerous businesses, but sometimes it made it hard to turn off.
I glanced at the hallway. I couldn’t hear the shower—my soundproofing was too good—but there was nothing wrong with my imagination. All too easily I could imagine smooth brown skin, water slicing over her long legs and high breasts.
My cock twitched, and I groaned.
She’s hurt, you asshole.
She wasn’t just hurt physically, either. Being under suspicion had very clearly dealt an emotional blow. As it would, for someone like her.
I headed back and knocked on the guest room door.
“Come in.”
She was sitting on the bed in a pretty, silver nightgown. I made myself not look at the way it draped her body. She was looking at her hands.
“London?” I moved closer.
“I’m fine.” She pasted on a smile that I could tell was fake. “I’m always fine. I charge on through the challenges and the hard times.”
“You don’t need to do it alone this time.”
She nodded. “Thanks again, Kavner. Good night.”
I didn’t want to leave, but I’d clearly been dismissed. She needed to rest.
“Get some sleep.” It took everything I had to walk away.
After I’d left her room, I lowered the lights and stalked across the living room. My hands balled into fists. She was hurt and I hated that. I wanted to fix it.
I wanted to make the person who’d hurt her pay.
She needed rest so she could heal. Tomorrow, I’d help her find her feet.
But as I stood there, images of her hurt and bleeding ran through my head. My hands flexed. It reminded me of times when I’d been beaten, when one of my brothers had been hurt.
I wasn’t a defenseless kid anymore.
I needed a drink. I stalked to my built-in bar, and poured myself a whiskey.
Then I sat on the couch and leaned forward, the glass cradled in my hands. I sipped, but I barely tasted it.
I took care of what was mine, and that now included London Coleman. She could be strong, smart, and independent, but I’d show her that having backup didn’t weaken you.
My brothers had made me stronger.
I heard a faint sound and looked up.
She stood there, fiddling with her hands. Her long legs were bare under that far-too-short nightgown.
