Protected by Him

by Hannah Ford

  “Sleep well, Princess?” he asked, his cocky swagger back. He walked to the kitchen and I followed him, watched as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out his water bottle.

  “I did, actually.”

  “You kept waking up.” He tipped his head back and took a swig from his water bottle. His t-shirt clung to his biceps and I remembered how his arm muscles flexed as he was poised on top of me, pushing into me, his cock rock hard.

  I shivered.

  He finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the trash. “Hungry?”

  I nodded. “Starving.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Depends on what you’re making.”

  “No, I mean, go out to breakfast.”

  “With you?” I asked, shocked for some reason. The thought of going out somewhere with him, just the two of us, seemed somehow foreign and outside the realm of possibility. It seemed like a date.

  “No, by yourself,” he said sarcastically and rolled his eyes. “Yes, with me.” He reached down and pulled his sweaty t-shirt off, and my body flooded with desire.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to shower and then we’ll go.”

  “Sounds good.” I was trying to play it cool as he walked down the hall, but I couldn’t contain my excitement. I hadn’t been out to breakfast in years, hadn’t been in a restaurant in God knew how long, except to sneak in and use the bathroom or that time last year when I spent two hours in a Denny’s nursing one cup of coffee because it was freezing outside, praying they wouldn’t kick me out.

  Twenty minutes later, Colt appeared again, dressed in a leather jacket and dark jeans, his hair still messy and damp from the shower. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and there was stubble on his strong jaw.

  I immediately wanted to kiss him, to feel his stubble brushing against my cheeks as his tongue pushed into my mouth, wanted to feel his stubble against the inside of my thighs as he moved higher.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I nodded and began to follow him out the door.

  He didn’t reach for my hand, and there was something about his body language that was closed off and contained. Did he regret telling me what he’d told me about his uncle? Did he wish we hadn’t slept together? Was he worried that because he’d held me close all night he’d given me the wrong idea of what he wanted?

  If so, he didn’t need to be worried.

  I was under no illusions.

  I knew I wasn’t his girlfriend.

  I remembered that girl, Ava, the one who had come up to him the other night, the stripper who had asked him to the after party.

  Those were the kinds of girls Colt hung out with.

  He opened the passenger side door of his car for me and I slid inside, the scent of the leather seats filling my nose.

  We drove to the restaurant in silence. I kept stealing glances at him, trying to get a read on his mood, wondering what he was thinking, not just about me, but about everything he’d told me, everything we’d talked about. But it was impossible. He seemed pensive, lost in thought. The music was on, something with a strong beat, but Colt was lost in his own world.

  He took me to a place in one of the higher-end parts of the city called Stella’s. When we got inside, I instantly felt woefully underdressed. Stella’s was the kind of place that looked too nice to even be a breakfast place, the kind of place with cloth tablecloths and menus encased in leather holders.

  “I think I’m undressed,” I said to Colt, smoothing my sweater nervously.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I blushed at the compliment.

  It turned out it didn’t matter what I was wearing, because it soon become obvious that Colt must have been a regular there. The maitre’d nodded to us and then immediately led us to a table in the back, right next to a huge floor-to-ceiling window which looked out across Generations Park. I spread my napkin onto my lap and looked out the window, watching the kids play on the swings.

  It was weird, how some parts of the city, like this one, were rich and posh, where kids could play and have fun and feel safe, and just a mile away were some of the poorest areas I’d ever seen.

  My heart clenched for a split second at how unfair it all was, but I forced myself back to the present moment, reminding myself those were problems and thoughts that were above my pay grade.

  “I can’t remember the last time I went out to breakfast,” I said.

  “Brunch,” Colt said, glancing up from his menu.

  “What?”

  “Nobody calls it breakfast anymore, Princess. You’re on the East Side now. They call it brunch.” He reached into the wire basket that was sitting on the table and pulled out a cranberry muffin, split it in half and buttered it before placing one half on my plate. “Eat.”

  “Bossy,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  He raised his eyebrows at me, daring me to defy him. So I picked it the muffin and took a bite. Holy crap, it was good. “This is the best muffin I’ve ever had,” I admitted.

  Colt nodded in satisfaction.

  When the waiter came back, Colt ordered for both of us – omelets with bacon and cheddar, sweet potato pancakes, bacon, sausage, and an order of biscuits with gravy.

  “That’s way too much food,” I protested once the waiter was gone.

  “You need to eat. You need to heal.” Colt nodded toward my wrists. There was a touch of something in his voice, a hint of that same emotion he’d had last night. I took a sip of my orange juice and tried to calm my heart, which had started to pound my chest.

  “Olivia,” Colt said.

  “Colt,” I said back, trying to put a teasing tone in my voice, trying to stop him from saying whatever it was he was about to say. I wanted to connect with him, but I afraid it was going to be about us, about what happened last night. I wasn’t ready yet for this little fantasy world to end. So I tried to cut him off at the pass. “When are you going to talk to your uncle?”

  “I already talked to him.”

  “What?” I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair, my hands clutching the napkin in my lap. “When?”

  “This morning.”

  The waiter returned then with two tall narrow glasses filled with something cool and pink. “Strawberry pineapple smoothies,” he said, setting them down on the table. “Compliments of the chef.”

  “Thanks, George,” Colt said. “Tell Zander I appreciate it.”

  They made small talk for a few moments, and I clutched my napkin tighter in the lap.

  “George, this is Olivia,” Colt said.

  “Nice to meet you,” George said, nodding at me. He didn’t seem like he thought it was strange to see Colt here with a girl, and I wondered how many other girls Colt had brought here for breakfast after a night together. Ten, twenty, a hundred?

  But I couldn’t think about that now.

  Once George was gone, I immediately turned to Colt.

  “What did he say?” I demanded.

  “Who?”

  “Your uncle! What did he say when you told him what you wanted to do?”

  “He said okay.” Colt shrugged, then pushed my smoothie toward me. “Drink.”

  I took a sip to appease him, because I knew he wouldn’t shut up about it unless I did. “So that’s it?”

  He nodded.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. “You don’t seem that happy.”

  George the waiter appeared at our table again, this time setting plate after plate of food down in front of us, biscuits and pancakes and omelets and sausage and bacon.

  “So why aren’t you happy?” I demanded once George was gone.

  “Who said I wasn’t happy?” Colt reached for the syrup and drowned his pancakes in it, then cut a piece and began to eat.

  “Well, you’re not smiling. You’re not acting like someone who’s happy.”He sighed, then set his fork down and reached into his wallet, pulling out a crumpled up business card. He slid it across the table toward me.

  “W
hat is that?”

  “Caleb’s card.”

  “Caleb’s…” I reached over and picked it up off the table. Sure enough, it was the card Caleb had given me. “Where did you get this?”

  “I picked it up off the ground yesterday when I found you outside Declan’s house.”

  I stared down at the card. Caleb’s information was embossed on heavy cream-colored stock, the letters raised slightly in a deep and foreboding navy blue. “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “Because,” Colt said, his voice serious. “Olivia, I want you to work with the FBI.”

  End Of Book Five

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