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She didn’t pull away from me, but she froze, her eyes wide on mine like a spooked doe.
“Are you hurt?” I asked. “You fell.”
I took her hands in mine and gently lifted them so that I could study her palms. They were smudged with dirt where she’d tried to catch herself on the grubby sidewalk, but the scrapes weren’t deep enough to have drawn blood.
“I’m fine,” she replied in little more than a whisper. Her lovely eyes began to shine, and her throat worked as her emotions surged. A single tear rolled down her pale cheek, and I brushed it away.
“You’re safe now,” I promised. “I’ve got you.”
“I don’t understand…” Her chest heaved, but she forced down a sob by taking a deep breath. “What’s happening? I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Massimo,” I replied, suddenly craving to hear the sound of my name in her breathy whisper. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again.”
She swallowed hard and blinked away more tears, summoning up the quiet strength I’d witnessed in her on that night I’d broken into her apartment. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to be strong around me; she could cry, and I would be more than happy to hold her.
But she was still wearing Crawford’s shirt, and I wouldn’t be able to shake the last of my rage until she took it off. My fingers itched with the urge to finish ripping it off her, but that would scare her even more.
I stepped away from her and quickly strode to the chest of drawers where I’d stashed my own clothes. I grabbed a soft black t-shirt that was a clean version of the blood-soaked shirt that covered my injured torso. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the burning in my side was becoming more insistent, and I was aware of how the wet cotton stuck to my skin. The graze probably wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but I was still bleeding sluggishly.
I draped my clean shirt over her shaking hands, which were still palms-up where I’d lifted them to inspect her for damage. She was frozen, posed like a doll, and her eyes were going glassy with shock.
I cupped her chilled cheeks in both hands, trying to imbue her with my warmth.
“Look at me,” I commanded, a firm order.
She blinked, and her lovely eyes focused on mine once again.
“Good girl.”
She released a shaky breath, and some of the tension eased from her slight body.
I stroked the lines of her cheekbones, leaving a crimson smear over her creamy complexion.
Shit.
My hand was still wet with blood where I’d pressed it against my side, and I’d marred her with the sign of violence.
I quickly brushed it away with my other thumb, but a pink flush still marked the spot where my blood had tainted her perfection.
I forced myself to pull away before I could imprint her with more signs of violence.
“Change out of that bloody shirt,” I ordered, my voice holding a harsher rumble than I’d intended.
I needed her out of Crawford’s shirt, all signs of his claim over her destroyed.
She blinked, her expression slightly bewildered, like a lost child.
“Now,” I prompted, crossing my arms over my chest to prevent myself from tearing it off her.
Her hands trembled slightly as she tugged his ruined shirt from her body, revealing her modest curves that were barely concealed by the fitted pink camisole. Somehow, I forced my gaze to remain steady on hers rather than studying her feminine form; now wasn’t the time to devour her with my hungry gaze.
She dropped the bloody shirt to the floor, and I kicked it farther away. I’d burn the damn thing later if I could.
To prevent myself from helping her, I kept my arms tucked tight to my chest while she tugged my shirt on over her blonde head. She was still shaking, but I worried I would spook her if I invaded her personal space when she was in such a vulnerable state. I never wanted Evelyn to fear me.
I enjoyed seeing myself as her protector far too much.
“Massimo!” Gian’s voice boomed out from the sitting room as my friend burst into the suite.
