His to Protect: A Fireside Novel

by Stacey Lynn

  —

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Trina asked, her knee bouncing in the passenger seat.

  My hand curled around the steering wheel of her old convertible as we drove west on I-94, headed directly for Chicago. I shrugged, twisting my hands around the wheel again. Fuck it. I needed to touch her. Soothe her.

  Comfort her.

  The more I was around her the more it felt like this was what I was meant to do—protect this woman.

  “Mac can handle Fireside Grill,” I said, reaching over and taking her hand. I tried not to cringe about that phone call I had to make this morning. My assistant manager essentially gave me the same shit Tyson had, with only one-tenth of the information, but it’s not as if people hadn’t figured out I had a soft spot for Trina, with her working in my office and serving tables without actually being hired.

  I figured being the boss gave me the right to break a few rules here and there.

  “I meant taking off like this.”

  “Chicago’s a bigger city,” I explained, although we’d been over this. My plan was a quick, two-day, three-state trip.

  Sell her car in Chicago. Take the train to Milwaukee. Ferry back to Michigan and drive home. With the cash from selling her car at whatever shady car lot we could find, she was going to buy a new car in Milwaukee. At the very least, selling the car in Chicago would send Morgenson hours out of his way if he’d had any idea she was in Detroit.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me.”

  Her surprise made me cringe. This wasn’t a big deal. Any decent man would do something like this, even if he wasn’t thinking about getting into a woman’s pants.

  Or under her skirt, since Trina came out of her room today dressed in some flowing, floor-scraping, skirt-dress type of thing.

  I had no idea what it was called, but it kept her almost fully covered.

  I despised it.

  I wanted to rip it off her.

  Her disbelief at a man’s kindness was just one more reminder, a red flag, that Trina hadn’t had a decent man in her life to show her the way, though.

  It was that thought that made me grit my teeth together, and I glared through the windshield.

  “And Boomer will be okay?” she asked, turning to face me. Fear and exhaustion lined her eyes, and it wasn’t from lack of sleep.

  This woman was tired. Tired of her life, tired of running.

  I didn’t blame her.

  “I swear to you, sweetheart, Blue is always at Tyson’s house and will treat the large oaf like he’s her child. She doesn’t have an unkind bone in her body.”

  “You’re right.” She sucked in a breath and squeezed my hand, entwining our fingers together. “I’m just worried.”

  “I know, but Boomer isn’t something to be worried about. He’s in good hands and he’ll be safe. Just like Tyson and I will ensure you will be, too.”

  She rolled her lips as if wanting to say something, then changed her mind. With her free hand, she leaned forward and began flicking through the radio stations.

  I let her have the distraction.

  “What are you doing?” I asked when she settled on a station that sounded like squawking. Horrific, tinny, squawking. Squawking like a flock of birds dying a slow and painful death.

  “It’s country music.”

  “Uh, no.” I was teasing her. I couldn’t care less what she listened to, even if I might need to bleach that sound out of my brain later.

  “Uh, yes,” she said, turning to me with wide eyes. “You drive, I choose the music. If you’d let me drive—”

  “No chick drives a car when a man is in it. It’s un-American.”

  “Then the passenger gets to choose the music. It’s only fair, and fortunately for you, you’re in luck,” she teased back. “Because I’m patriotic and country music is the most American thing you can listen to.”

  I thought of a thousand rock bands that were more American than the crap making my ears bleed. The Doors, Eagles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Rolling Stones, just to name a few off the top of my head.

  “Whatever. I’ll deal.” I looked back out the front window, keeping my eyes ahead.

  But a smile stretched my lips as her light, tinkling laughter filled the car, making the country bullshit she was forcing on me bearable.

  Almost.

  —

  Trina eyed the check in my hand and I watched her fighting back tears.

  “This is the smartest thing you can do.” I draped my arm over her shoulders, pressing her to me. “If he’s following you, you know he’s got someone trying to find your car.”

  “I know.” She sniffed and nodded, swiping her fingertips over her cheek. “I’ve had that darn car for so long, it’s hard to say goodbye.” She looked up at me, eyes glimmering with more tears, and whispered, “Boomer and that car are the only things I have…from before.”

  Which explained why she was driving a car several years old and not brand-new. I would have thought Kevin wouldn’t want her in anything except the best. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe she drove something better around town in Kentucky. But the fact that she kept hold of this one thing just proved how much fight she had in her when it was important. I never wanted to ask about the car before, but hearing it from her then made it feel like a wrench was tightening around my heart.

  I held out the check we’d just gotten for her car. With as much as it was, she could buy anything she wanted. “Think of this as a fresh start. Leave everything behind”—I smiled—“except for Boomer, and move on from the past.”

  “Right.” A spark of determination gleamed in her shining eyes and she wiped away more tears. “We’re moving on.”

  I pushed down my smile. “Yeah, we are.”

  Because we were. Together. At least for now, and if she continued to make me feel the way I had every minute since I’d met her, I was hoping it was for a lot longer than just a brief moment in time.

  A taxi pulled into the run-down dealership we’d found in East Chicago. I hadn’t wanted to go too far into the city with the car, and I figured that if she’d come up this direction from Kentucky, she would have been on a similar route. I was hoping that once we sold her vehicle at some dumpy dealership willing to give us half what the car was worth, it’d make it that much more difficult for Kevin to find her.

  So we ditched the car, but needed a way to get to the Loop in downtown Chicago, where we would catch a train to Milwaukee at Union Station.

  It was only three o’clock, and the last train to Milwaukee didn’t leave until eight at night, giving us some time to kill in the city before we headed to our next destination. We could have rushed it and tried to catch an earlier train, but I also wanted to take some time—even if it was just a few hours—to give Trina a break from the worry and fear I knew she was feeling.

  “So,” I said, dropping my hand from her shoulder to grab her hand. I started walking toward the waiting taxi and looked down at her. “Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to see in Chicago?”

  She shrugged, one side of her upper lip curling. “Not really. I’ve always pictured it as a big, dirty, cement jungle.”

  I barked out a laugh and pulled her against me. She almost tripped, and her free hand landed on my stomach.

  “What?” she asked, eyes wide and looking up at me.

  The sun hit her eyes, making her light-brown eyes sparkle like they were spun from gold.

  “Chicago’s not ugly.” I pushed down the burgeoning lust I felt every time she smiled at me and opened the rear door of the taxi for her. “It’s beautiful and perfect. The best city anywhere in the world.”

  “Even better than Latham Hills?” Her eyes lit with wonder and amusement.

  God, I loved that she loved my city.

  “Trust me,” I told her, leaning in and brushing my lips against hers. I didn’t know if she felt the same need and desire as me, but I hadn’t been able to keep my lips off her today. Small, teasing brushes of my lips against her skin,
anywhere I could taste her. She hadn’t pushed me away, though. “Let me prove you wrong.”

  She squeezed my hand with hers and leaned in, our noses brushing against each other. “I do trust you,” she finally whispered, her lips lingering just a breath away from my own.

  And it was that moment, with the taxi pulling into Chicago’s rush-hour afternoon traffic—because it was always rush hour here—and her golden eyes fixed on mine, letting me see the pure sincerity in her four simple words, that I completely fell for her.

  —

  The outside of Reglatti’s Pizzeria was less than impressive, but it was the location and food inside that kept the small restaurant crammed full at almost all hours of the day. Just a half block south of Wrigley Field on Ashland Avenue, Reglatti’s was famous to local Chicagoans for their delicious, deep-dish pizza, as well as their own form of Sicilian pizza that had an exceptionally light crust. Just before four on Monday, the place had a steady stream of customers and very few tables available, although there wasn’t yet a line.

  Give it an hour. Even with the Chicago Cubs playing an away game, there would still be a line of customers wrapped around the corner of the building waiting to eat a Monday-night slice of pie while they watched their beloved Cubs on the big screens scattered throughout the restaurant and cheered them on.

  A twinge of jealousy hit me in the chest while I glanced around the packed restaurant. This was what I wanted Fireside Grill to become. A beloved icon in a city with a fanatic customer base in a small area of Detroit where people took pride in their community. I just had to figure out how to bring them in.

  I shook off the thought and focused on Trina.

  She took another bite of her first slice of deep-dish and closed her eyes.

  “So what do you think?”

  She groaned, swallowing the large bite. I’d been fighting to keep my dick from going hard the entire meal, yet hadn’t wanted to stop the quiet, pleased sounds she made.

  Grinning, she wiped her lips with a napkin. “It’s not too bad.”

  I glanced down at our almost fully devoured pie, then back at her.

  “You’ve eaten twice as much as I have.”

  Her cheeks paled and I pressed my lips together, watching as the fear and embarrassment flooded her features.

  I swore. If I ever ran into Kevin Morgenson III, I was going to wring his fucking wiry neck.

  She opened her mouth and I knew an apology was on the tip of her tongue. I cut her off.

  “Don’t you dare apologize,” I said with a quiet voice, biting back my desire to rage like an animal. “I was kidding. Eat however much you freaking want, Trina.”

  Her breathing faltered before she took a sip of water. “I know…some things are hard to forget.”

  She licked her lips and looked away, ashamed.

  I suppressed the growl rising in my throat. “Tell me about Kentucky,” I said instead, changing the subject. Based on the way her shoulders dropped, relaxing, it had the desired effect.

  She looked directly into my eyes. Light brown mixed with flecks of a darker color around her irises. I almost forgot to breathe when she tilted her head to the right. So innocent. Pure. Damaged, but fighting. “Like what?”

  “Anything you want. Weather, what you did, what you liked.” I gave her time to think and picked up another slice of pie and dove in, chewing while she appeared to run through her memories until she found the best one.

  A strange burning sensation lit in my chest.

  I didn’t realize that I had needed that. I didn’t realize that the entire time I was with Mara, I didn’t have that…someone who cared enough to take the time to give me the best parts of herself. I saw it in Trina’s eyes as she worked her way through her memories.

  When she finally grinned and set down her pizza, that burning in my chest grew deeper, more fierce.

  Because I knew I was looking at a woman who would give me her best, every day of her life, as long as I deserved it.

  I’d never wanted to fight for anything more.

  As she spoke about high school, telling me about being a cheerleader and homecoming queen, shopping trips to the malls with her friends and visits to amusement parks, I soaked up every word, my thoughts never straying. I never lost interest, and hung on every word. While doing so, I picked up little nuances, storing them in my memory bank.

  Like the way her grin went a little lopsided when she was truly excited. The way she ran her left index finger against the corner of her lips when she thought. How her hands became more animated—long, thin fingers and small palms waving in the air like twinkling stars—the more into a story she was.

  She was uninhibited in her freedom.

  She was absolutely stunning.

  She was perfection in the most beautiful package. Attraction, beyond just the physical, shouldn’t occur so quickly, yet I couldn’t resist the pull she had on me.

  “Let’s go,” I said when we’d finished our pie and she’d just finished a story about fishing in the pond on her grandpa’s farm. The fact that this girl could fish, bait her own hook and everything, made her more attractive. She didn’t mind getting dirty, and I couldn’t help but think of what other ways she wouldn’t mind getting a bit messy. “There’s more of the city I want to show you before we go.”

  “Do we have time?” She nervously glanced around for a clock.

  “Plenty. Downtown will take us closer to the station anyway.”

  With that decided, I paid the bill while she used the restroom, and then we walked the two blocks to the closest train station.

  “Kentucky is cleaner,” she mused, looking out the window of the train as we watched the city zip by. “Hotter and more humid, but I miss the fresh, crisp scent in the air. I don’t feel that here.”

  Her hand was on my thigh, my palm pressing against the back of her hand, and while she spoke, I trailed a fingertip across her hand, tracing her handprint. She shivered from the slight touch.

  “What else do you miss?”

  “Nothing.” She turned to me and flashed me one of her lopsided smiles. And those damn eyes, so full of vitality despite what she’d gone through. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Chapter 12

  Trina

  The wind in Chicago was brutal. Between my hair whipping across my cheeks and the throng of people on the platform when we stepped off the train, I was unsure of my footing, and felt jostled by the hectic pace of a city that felt much too large, much too active.

  A firm hand cupped my elbow, and I flinched for just a brief moment before I realized it was only Declan, guiding me closer to him.

  “Thank you,” I said and leaned toward his large frame for support. I wasn’t typically a claustrophobic type of person, but in the last few years, for good reason, unexpected touches from random strangers made me uncomfortable.

  “Stay close,” he said.

  His eyes focused straight ahead as he hustled us closer to the stairs, weaving us in and out of the other travelers with practiced precision. From what I knew, Declan had always lived in Detroit, only leaving for a few years to play football at Central University, where he met Tyson and Aidan. He seemed so comfortable in Chicago, knew so many specific places to go, that I couldn’t help but wonder how often he’d been here.

  He was certainly not an occasional visitor.

  I opened my mouth to ask him as we began heading down the stairway, when I felt a sharp jab in the side of my stomach. I jumped from the sudden contact and the sting of pain. I lurched forward, wrapping my arm around my waist and pulling my arm out of Declan’s grasp.

  The quick movement made me lose by balance and the toe of my shoe caught on a bump on the metal stairs. Before I knew what was happening, I fell forward and reached out to brace myself against the stranger in front of me, when someone else bumped into my side and I tripped again.

  A piercing ache slashed through my ankle as it twisted in the space between the stairs, and right before I face-planted on the metal rail
way, strong hands wrapped around my waist.

  “Shit!” Declan cursed as he began lifting me back to my feet.

  “Ouch.” I cringed as my foot twisted again and slid out of the gap.

  Curling my hands around the metal railing, I pulled myself upright. Declan’s hands on my waist created a cascade of warmth that tumbled through my body, everywhere, except for where there was a fiery pain, beginning in my ankle and traveling up to my knee. “It hurts really bad.”

  Tears welled in my eyes from the harsh pain, and I squeezed my eyes closed.

  I had learned not to cry. It didn’t help anything.

  “Are you okay?” Declan asked.

  I hissed a breath between my teeth and pressed my lips together. Around us, people continued their journey to wherever they were going, not bothering to give either of us a second look. Declan was jostled from the back and the side as he stood in a way that protected me from the crowd.

  I overheard a few murmurs of displeasure tossed in Declan’s direction for blocking the already narrow staircase. With the way he was looking at me, deep, dark eyes narrowed with concern, I doubted he heard them.

  “What hurts?” he asked and his eyes roamed over my body. That look soaked into my pores like the richest lotion, soothing and softening me.

  It shouldn’t be right, how good he made me feel. Yet there was no escaping it, either. Every look, every brush of his fingers against mine, every touch of his skin on mine created a craving inside me, made me want more.

  “My ankle,” I said, shaking my head and trying to focus. I set the toes of my injured foot on the stair to apply pressure, but it made me yelp in pain.

  “We need to get you looked at.”

  He glanced down at my foot and quickly back up when I snapped, “No. No doctors. No hospitals. There’ll be records.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered, and ran a hand from his forehead to the back of his neck, squeezing. I watched as muscles bunched at the sides of his throat before he ran his tongue along the front of his teeth.

  “Not a problem. I’ve got an idea. It’ll just mean we miss the train to Milwaukee.”

  Before I could argue that it wasn’t a good idea, that I’d be fine—I could just ice it on the train—he pushed people out of his way and scooped me into his arms. One of his hands went under my knees, the other behind my back.