Protecting Olivia

by Riley Edwards

  “It means sweetheart.” He reached his hand down. “Come on, up you go. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Sweetheart? Why on earth was he calling me sweetheart?

  Leo helped me stand; once I was at the sink I could balance myself enough to brush my teeth and wash my face. My hair was a different story.

  “I’m sorry to ask, but can you help me with my hair? I don’t know how to wash it in this tiny sink.”

  The small pedestal sink made it impossible for me to flip my hair in the basin and wash it and there was no bathtub to lean over. There was only a small utilitarian shower stall.

  Leo looked around the small space, seemingly studying his options. I was about to tell him to forget it, maybe if I just brushed my hair that would get most of the dried puke out. It wouldn’t help with the smell. However, it was better than nothing.

  “Do you trust me, Olivia? Really and truly trust me?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. He’d been nothing but nice to me. He obviously worked for or had worked for the government at some point. Not that that made him trustworthy.

  “It’s not a trick question. There’s no right or wrong answer.”

  Call me stupid, but ultimately my decision was made because when he carried me out of that shit hole of a room, and when the house exploded, he saved me. He made sure that I was protected even if that meant he would be injured.

  “I trust you,” I answered.

  “I’m going to help you in the shower. Are you still wearing a bra and panties?” he asked.

  Holy hell! He did not just ask me about my panties. I looked down at my bare feet and the torn hem of the dress I had been wearing since the day I’d been taken. Of course, I couldn’t have been kidnapped while out jogging when I had on proper clothes and sneakers. No, not me. I was taken from a nightclub, in a dress and heels. A very short dress that left very little to the imagination.

  “I’m wearing panties. No bra,” I answered honestly.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m getting in the shower with you. You’re too weak to stand in there by yourself. Leave on your panties, and I am going to leave on my tee and boxers. But I have a rule, and this is non-negotiable. I have to lock the door.”

  “Why?” I blurted out. Out of everything he told me, I was questioning why he wanted the door locked. I was an idiot.

  “If my gun is not strapped on, the door is locked. It doesn’t matter if my team are the only ones in the next room,” he explained.

  I didn’t understand why that was a rule or even a thought. But I didn’t live his life, I had never even touched a gun. Now that I thought about it, a locked door paled in comparison to being in a tight space with a man who was trained to kill. Gun or no gun. If he wanted to hurt me, the door wouldn’t have to be locked for him to do it.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay to what?” he asked.

  “To all of it,” I clarified.

  He reached over and locked the door. He was so big and the room was so small, he reached in the shower and turned the water on without having to take a step.

  “Hold on to the sink while I undress,” he instructed and started to remove his vest. I watched with rapt attention as he laid his gear on a small toiletry stand. First his gun and his knife, then he toed off his boots and his pants came off next. It doesn’t matter what situation you’re in, there was something erotic about watching a man take off his socks. He had nice feet, and those feet led to a pair of muscular legs. His thighs must’ve been as big around as my waist. That was a slight exaggeration, but not by much.

  Once he was done undressing, he reached back in the shower to check the water.

  “It’s ready.” Leo came to stand behind me. Unfortunately, the mirror above the sink had started to fog, and I could no longer see him. “I’m going to unzip your dress now.”

  His thoughtfulness put me at ease. I might’ve had another panic attack if he had touched me without warning me first.

  I sucked in a breath and readied myself. I had never showered with a man before, it was too intimate. I preferred not to get too close to any of the frat boys I had been with.

  Even over the rushing of the water, I could hear the teeth of my zipper pull apart, or maybe that was the sound of my heartbeat roaring in my ears.

  “You’re doing great. The zipper is down, go ahead and let the dress fall to the ground.”

  I hadn’t realized I had let go of the sink and was now clutching my dress to my chest. It was now or never. The faster this was over the faster I could see my mom. I mentally counted to three and dropped the dress. The fabric pooled around my feet. All I had to do was step over the material and get into the shower. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been naked in front of a man before. Hell, most of the men I had been with in the past year I didn’t even bother to get their names. Why did it feel so different being naked in front of this man?

  “I’m ready,” I told him.

  Chapter Seven

  Leo

  I was one dumb son of a bitch.

  I think the explosion must’ve knocked any sense I had left clear out of my brain.

  Let’s get naked and take a shower together?

  Fuck me, I’m an idiot.

  I’d like to believe that my reasons were pure that I merely wanted to help Olivia get cleaned up so her ma could come in and see her. Pamela had to be going out of her mind worried. Yet, I had no business offering to wash this girl. We should’ve called in Jasmin. Not that her bedside manner was any better than mine, but at least she was a woman.

  “I’m ready.” Olivia’s words broke the silence.

  I’m glad she was ready; however, I didn’t think I was. Before I could change my mind, I picked her up and carried her into the shower. Warm water pounded on my back shielding her from the full force of it. I tried to avert my eyes and not look directly down. As hard as I tried not to, I still caught a glimpse of her perfect full breasts and pebbled nipples. I told myself it didn’t count because it was just a hint of view out of my peripheral vision. I had to set her down before my cock went to full staff. Just because my brain understood what this was didn’t mean he did.

  I set her down and steadied her on her feet. “Lean back,” I instructed.

  She did, and her panty-covered ass brushed against my cock. This was not going to go well. I had to hold her while she washed her hair. There was no good way to do this. Either her ass was pressed against my hard-on, or I was in front of her and her tits would be pushed against my chest. Thank God my boxers and tee were still on.

  Screw it. There was no easy way to do this with the shower being so small. I pulled her the rest of the way to me, her back now firmly pressed against my chest. “Try to keep your bad hand out of the way, it will sting like hell if the soap hits the open sores.”

  I grabbed the shampoo off the shelf and poured some onto the top of her head. What the hell did I know about washing a woman’s hair? There was probably some special procedure, but damn if I knew. I had never taken the time to shower with a woman, nor had I ever paid attention when a date showered before she left my apartment. I massaged the gel into her scalp and down through the strands, making sure I concentrated on the areas where the vomit was caked on.

  “That’s nice.” Olivia sighed.

  She was going to kill me if she sighed like that again. It was taking all of my self-control not to allow myself even the slightest glance of the sudsy water rushing over her bare skin. With her head bent to the side and my height, I would have a perfect view of her…

  Nope! Not going there. I had one job to do, and it didn’t include fantasizing about what those tits would look like, or feel like. It especially didn’t involve me wondering what they would taste like and if she would squirm when I tied her to my bed and had her under my control.

  I shook my head trying to dislodge the mental images my overactive mind was conjuring up. It had been a long time since I had a woman in my bed. That’s all this was. It
wasn’t Olivia I was attracted to, it was merely good old-fashioned sex deprivation.

  Once the suds were gone, I repeated the process with the conditioner. The faster this was done, the sooner I could get her dressed and get back to HQ. There was still a full days’ worth of after action reports to file and a debriefing with the President.

  “Hair’s done. Give me your hand, and I’ll give you the soap to wash up.”

  She removed her good hand from the wall and replaced it with the one with angry red welts and open sores.

  “Ouch,” she yelped. “I can’t balance myself with my bad hand. It’s okay, my hair was enough.”

  Fuck me. Fuck my life. I was a dumb fuck.

  “Balance yourself with your good hand.” I prayed to all things holy there was a washcloth in the shower.

  I knew there wasn’t, but I still prayed that maybe one would magically appear.

  No such luck.

  I reached my arms around her to her front and lathered my hands up, I placed the bar back on the ledge and went to work.

  I avoided any part of her that would further make my cock stiff, if that was even possible. Her skin was smooth, and goosebumps rose every place I touched her. That was not helping my situation. I closed my eyes and mentally recited a cadence call.

  My hands were moving as quickly as they could go and still get her clean. When I stopped to re-soap my hands, I felt her body shaking.

  “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” What a dumb question. Of course the girl was uncomfortable. She was in the shower with a stranger who was touching her body after she went through such a harrowing ordeal. “What I mean is, am I touching you somewhere that’s making this harder for you?”

  “No.”

  Jesus. Now we’re playing twenty questions.

  “Listen, tesorino, I’ll be honest – I’m not real good at the guessing game. I come from an Italian family. When there’s something bothering someone, they blurt it out nice and loud so everyone can understand.”

  “I’m embarrassed you have to wash me. I feel like the victim you said I was.”

  Did I call her a victim? “I’m an asshole. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I didn’t mean to call you a victim. It was a poorly worded statement.”

  “Poorly worded or not, it’s the truth,” she cried.

  Well damn. Without thinking, I turned Olivia in my arms and held her to my chest.

  “You are not a victim! You are strong and tough and survived a horrible ordeal,” I told her.

  She continued to shake, and I could feel the pain radiating from her body.

  When she closed her eyes she explained, “No, I really am. You wanna know what I thought about while I was lying on that floor? That I was going to die in there. I wasn’t trying to escape. I was making peace with my death. A victim does that. Someone strong would’ve fought.”

  “Enough! What were you going to do exactly? Do you know how many men were holding you?”

  “No.”

  “If you had somehow gotten out of that room, you had no idea what you were up against. Did you have some weapon I didn’t see?”

  “No.”

  “Right. So, you were going to fight your way out of there with your bare hands against fifteen men, all who had weapons.”

  “Um.”

  “You did the only thing you could do. You were compliant and waited for someone to come in and get you. You saved your own life by not trying to escape, which would’ve only pissed them off. Best case scenario they would’ve beat the shit out of you, and you would’ve wished they had killed you. Or option two, more than likely they would’ve put a bullet in your head and not thought twice about it. Do you understand?” I hated having to impart that truth to her, but she had to understand. She was in a no-win situation if she had tried to fight those men. “Animals do not value human life. It’s a sad truth. Trust me, you did the right thing. The safest thing you could’ve done.”

  “Yes,” Olivia murmured against my chest. “I understand.”

  “You need to put that shit outta your head right now before it eats away at you. Take a minute and sort your head out, realize there was nothing more you could’ve done and lock it down. You are not a victim. What I meant and should’ve said was, I shouldn’t have shut you in a small space with me after what you’d just gone through. I should’ve told you what was going to happen. I’m sorry.” I was still kicking my own ass for making that rookie mistake. Then I called her a victim. Damn, I was an idiot. I couldn’t believe I had planted those thoughts in her head.

  “Is that what you do?” she asked.

  I didn’t make it a habit of discussing my personal life with anyone yet for some unknown reason I decided to make an exception. “Yes.”

  “Does it work?”

  What was this, the Spanish Inquisition?

  “Yes. There is no use in dwelling on the shit I cannot change. It is what it is.” I answered.

  “I’ll try.” Her voice was soft and unsure. And suddenly I wanted to make it my life’s mission to make sure she didn’t try, but she succeeded in putting this behind her. Which was crazy considering I had known her all of a minute.

  “Good. We’re done. I’m sure your ma is waiting to see you. If she’s anything like mine, she’s out there driving everyone batshit crazy trying to get to you.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Thank you for all your help and for saving me. Sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

  I really did have this girl pegged wrong. “You know, most women in this situation would’ve been freaking the fuck out by now. Screaming and crying. Yet another reason I know you’re tough.”

  “I think I’m still in shock. Normally I’d be throwing a hissy fit because my dress was ruined and I lost my favorite pair of Jimmy Choos. And that is embarrassing to admit. I’m a screw-up. That’s the worst part about all of this. It’s all my fault. I drink too much and put myself in bad situations.”

  “Olivia,” I warned.

  “No sense in denying it I-”

  I pushed her off my chest and grabbed her by both her shoulders giving her no option but to hear what I was about to tell her.

  “Woman.” I quickly cut her off. “No part of this is your fault. You telling me that fifteen men holding you against your will for ransom is your fault? I don’t give the first two fucks if you drink too much, fuck too much, and you cry when you lose your Jimmy whatevers. No one has the right to touch you in a way you don’t want to be touched. And they certainly do not have the right to drug you and take you.” By the time I was done talking she looked like one of those cartoon characters with her eyes bulging out of her eye sockets. “Put it away, Olivia. Lock it down, get dressed, and go see your ma.”

  “I’m trying,” she cried.

  I had no idea how to handle a woman in distress. I worked with men. We fought together, we killed together, and we drank together. Never in my time in the teams or after did I shower with one of them while they cried in my arms. My ma and sister had never cried in front of me, most of the time they were bustin’ my balls and pissing me off. I had no idea what to do with this.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this. You need your ma, she can help. Forget everything I said,” I whispered and brushed her wet hair off her face. She looked so small and lost. Part of that was my fault.

  I quickly pulled my wet tee over my head and tossed it in the sink. Pulled my cargos on over my wet boxers all the while Olivia remained quiet. I dried her off. Nothing. Not a word. I held the towel up to give her privacy while she put on clean sweatpants and a tee, still nothing. I carried her back to the gurney, not only did she not speak, she wouldn’t look at me.

  I had screwed up royally, yet I didn’t know what to say to fix it. Or if I should even try. God knows I’d said enough to traumatize the girl already. I opted to keep my trap shut and let someone else help her. Maybe it was for the best. Every time she looked at me with her wa
rm eyes she made me feel things I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Things that were not meant for a man like me. Olivia deserved a well-dressed man who sat behind a desk all day, a safe man who she could make a life with. Not a roughneck like me who wore a bulletproof vest and carried a gun. I had to stay away from her.

  The moment she was back on the gurney, Westinghouse was at her side swabbing her forearm and inserting her IV. She no longer requested my presence while the doctor was tending to her. I took that as my cue to beat feet and get away from her.

  “Anything new?” I asked, when I approached Garrett, pulling a clean tee over my head.

  “We got bigger problems than we had originally thought. I went over the intel Tex gave me, things have gone from bad to worse.”

  Before I could question Garrett further, the door swung open. One very frantic mother came to an abrupt halt when she found five pissed off men leveling guns in her direction. I’m quite sure Pamela Cox had never been on the business end of a Sig P226 before, let alone five.

  “Oh. My. God,” she screamed.

  Five weapons were lowered, and five sets of eyes rolled as she rushed to her daughter’s side. The damn crazy woman was a cunt hair from taking one. And where the hell was Peter Newton and why wasn’t he keeping the woman under control?

  No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, Peter rushed in behind Pamela. He looked like hell. He also looked like he had a lot to say, I’m not sure how I drew that conclusion, but the man looked like his world had crashed in around him, and he was mad as shit about it. It was a far cry from his normal political poker face. He remained in the doorway as Pamela rushed to Olivia.

  “Thank God,” Pamela cried and leaned over the bed to hug her daughter. She looked like I would expect any mother to look like after finding out her daughter was safe and sound – relieved.

  Pamela was a beautiful woman, she was always dressed to the nines. I had never seen the woman any other way. It was as if she had a personal stylist with her at all times. Only today, she had on jeans and a wrinkled button-up shirt.

  “I’m fine.” I heard Olivia choke out.