Chapter 4 #2
A lie. My neck throbbed from the jolt of the hit, and my chest felt tight.
He knew I wasn't being honest, and I hated that too. He didn’t call me out on it.
But the muscle in his jaw kicked like he wanted to track down whoever hurt me and drag them through the streets.
It seemed to throb as he gritted his teeth and checked his anger.
I couldn't help but wonder what would make the no-nonsense man come undone.
Nothing seemed to rattle him from his conditioned demeanor. Had he been that way in prison too?
When he pulled into his driveway, I felt my stomach drop.
I’d been here once before—the night Cori came to tell him that their father was retiring.
His gaze burned into me from across the room like he could see my secrets.
But I also got the feeling that whatever Cori was going on about was old news to Dmitri.
He was less interested in it and more focused on me.
I'd stayed near the door ready to leave before we even got here.
Dmitri always had been intense, and when I was around him, that intensity seemed to spread to me.
I was stupid to think that coming back here tonight would feel any different.
He parked, stepped out, and came around to open my door before I could reach for the handle.
“Stop doing that,” I said.
“Doing what?”
“Being... gallant.”
“I’m not gallant.” His voice was quiet but blunt. “I’m protective.”
“Same thing.”
“No.” He leaned in just enough that I felt the warmth of him. “Gallant is optional. Protective isn’t.”
My heart thudded painfully.
“Come inside,” he said.
I hesitated on purpose—to prove I wasn’t being dragged along by him. But he didn’t push, didn’t touch me, didn’t crowd. He simply waited. I exhaled shakily and stepped past him, walking into a house that felt too warm, too intimate, too him.
His scent hit me first—cedar, smoke, a hint of something darker that clung to every inch of this place. I hated how much it anchored me. He closed the door. Locked it. And for a moment... I froze.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said from behind me, voice steady. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
I turned to face him. “You need to stop saying things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because they sound like promises.”
“They are.”
I swallowed hard. “Dmitri…”
“Tell me why you don’t want to be here.”
I lifted my chin. “Because I don’t trust you.”
He stepped closer—slow, deliberate—until I could see the flecks of steel in his eyes.
“No,” he murmured, “you trust me too much. That’s your problem.”
“I don’t—”
“Why’d you keep me on the phone?” He didn’t let me answer. “Why not Cori? Or one of your cousins? Or the cops?”
I clenched my fists. “You were already on the phone.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Cori gave you his phone.”
“It means everything.” He conveniently skipped the Cori part.
His voice wasn’t raised. It wasn’t angry. It was maddeningly sure. And that scared me more than the SUV that ran me off the road.
I stepped aside, putting distance between us. “I’m staying here only long enough to get my head straight. Then I’m going home.”
“You’re not.” He said it like a fact, not an argument.
“Yes, I am.”
“Try again.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Dmitri—”
He moved before I could finish, not touching me, just crossing the space between us with a quiet, lethal calm that stole the strength from my knees.
He reached out—slowly—and brushed a single strand of hair away from my cheek.
Barely a touch. Soft enough to be mistaken for accidental. My breath stilled.
“If you step foot outside this house tonight,” he said, voice a low, dangerous promise, “they’ll try again, and I can't have that.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“You’re about to be.”
My pulse tripped over itself. “You say that like I don’t get a choice.”
“You do.” His thumb grazed my jaw. “You choose whether you sleep in the guest room or in my arms when you fall apart.”
My chest tightened. “I’m not falling apart.”
He tilted his head. “Aren’t you?”
I hated that my eyes pricked. I hated the comfort in his presence. I hated the heat curling low in my stomach just from his nearness. But most of all, I hated that when he touched me—even barely—I didn’t want to pull away. I stepped back because I had to, not because I wanted to.
“I’ll take the guest room,” I said firmly.
“Good.” He stepped away too, giving me space as if he could read the revolt happening inside me. “But you’re not closing the door.”
“Why not?” I snapped.
“Because I need to know you’re okay. See that you're fine. Someone tried to kill you. I won’t sleep unless I know you’re breathing. I don't want to break down the door to settle my curiosity that you're alive and well.”
My stomach twisted.
“You can crack the door, if you want,” he added. “But I’m not leaving you alone. Not tonight.”
I swallowed. Nodded once. Then turned and walked down the hall toward where I assumed the guest room was—heart pounding, hands still shaking, and every inch of me aware of the man who followed behind me like a shadow.
A protector.
A danger.
A promise I wasn’t ready to face.