21. Cupid #2
“If you’re questioning whether I’ll fight for you, the answer is yes.
We belong together, and I’ll prove that through my words and actions.
However, if we separate, it will be because of your stubborn ass not recognizing a good thing when it looks you in the face.
Butterfly, I know you feel like I trapped you in my life by moving you in, but I’m no jailer.
I’ll never force you to stay. I want you to choose me willingly. ”
“So if I were to leave now…” She shifts to move off my lap, testing me.
My heart stalls, worried she might actually consider moving out. My arms snake around her, holding her in place. “Don’t go. You’re not safe out there alone, at least not right now. I’ll never forgive myself if you choose to leave and something happens to you. If you’re here, I can protect you.”
She settles in my lap, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t doubt you’ll keep me safe, Cupid. But I can’t stay cooped up here. I have classes I need to finish and clinical hours for my internship I need to complete.”
“Who said you couldn’t go to classes and such? As soon as Scalpel clears you, you’re returning to business as normal. Except this time you won’t be alone. Me or one of my men will be with you. We’ll wait for you outside your classes or outside the clinic and escort you to where you need to go.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she mutters, misunderstanding.
“Not a babysitter. A bodyguard. We will not interfere with your schooling. I understand it means a great deal to you, and I want you to graduate on time. But you need to understand you have a target on your back and there are human traffickers around your campus. Your security comes first—always.”
“Isn’t a bodyguard, I don’t know, a little over the top?”
“Let’s say what happened to you happened to a friend of yours. Would you tell her that having a security detail is over the top?”
Vanessa looks thoughtful for a moment before sighing. “I suppose not.”
“Then we agree to you having a bodyguard at all times when not with me?”
“As long as they don’t interfere with my classes and internship, I’m okay with it.”
“Good. It’s settled.”
“When can I return to normal activity?”
“Scalpel expects you’ll be back in class no later than the start of next week.
He already has a medical excuse written out for you, and our club’s hacker—Cipher—already emailed it to your professors and supervisor at the clinic.
They’ve all responded with well wishes. Your professors have even agreed to let you attend virtual classes to avoid falling behind.
But your clinical hours will still need to be in person.
As for your boss at the deli, George is switching his hours to close earlier.
He doesn’t want what happened to you to happen to any of your coworkers.
George said not to worry about your schedule—your coworkers got it covered. ”
What I deliberately withhold from Vanessa is that I informed George she’ll not be returning to work.
One, she doesn’t need to work while in school.
She’s my woman and I provide for her. Two, if she kicks up a stink about not working, like I expect she will, she can always work in my club.
My bar and kitchen are always in need of extra hands.
This way she can work when she wants instead of out of survival.
“Wow,” Vanessa says, shocked and wide-eyed. “That’s great. Now I’m concerned with your tech person hacking into my school and personal email.”
“For a good reason,” I say quickly, pointing out the positive.
“You were pretty upset last night when Scalpel informed you that you’d be missing a few days of class for recovery.
We sorted out your schedule with your professors to ease your stress.
Before you accuse me of infiltrating your privacy, I only did it for this one matter.
Cipher was under strict orders not to go snooping—he only sent the emails to the appropriate people. ”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “I trust Cipher.”
“I’m changing my passwords,” she grumbles.
“Change them if you want, but it will take Cipher five minutes tops to crack them again.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Vanessa shouts at me before grabbing her head, groaning in pain. “Ow.”
“Enough talk. You need medicine, food, and rest.”
Holding onto my woman under her thighs, I stand with her in my arms, taking her back to our bedroom.
She tries to get out of my hold again. “I can walk, you know?”
“Stop arguing and let me hold you,” I say a bit too tersely. “I could have lost you last night. I need this—need to feel you in my arms to know you’re safe.”
“Oh,” Vanessa says shyly, like she finally gets why I need the physical connection. Maybe she feels the same way too, because she stops resisting me, laying her head on my shoulder, and lets me carry her.
Gently, I lay her on the bed, adjusting the pillows behind her to sit upright and pulling the blankets over her lap. “Are you comfortable?”
She blushes, still not accustomed to being cared for. “Yes.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll bring you some pain pills and lunch.”
“I’m not very hungry,” she says, leaning back against the pillows and the headboard. “The nausea is getting to me.”
“It will only get worse if you take medicine on an empty stomach. A few bites won’t hurt. Okay?”
She grimaces, but gives a resigned nod. “I’ll try.”
With a tender kiss on her smooth cheek, I slip out of the room and head for the kitchen.
I rarely use it, preferring to eat at my restaurant on the ground level, but I keep a few things on hand.
An easy omelet with cheese will be gentle enough for her stomach.
I make a large one, enough for both of us, and dish it out on two plates.
I quickly realize the bachelor in me doesn’t own a serving tray to make eating easier for her in bed.
One guess who probably does?
After opening half of the kitchen boxes from Vanessa’s apartment, I find a folding serving tray. I place the food on it, grab a glass of water and her acetaminophen, and hightail it back to the bedroom. Vanessa waits in bed, looking out the window with the drapes pulled halfway back.
“It’s nothing fancy. But it will fill you up and hopefully settle your stomach,” I say, setting the tray across her lap.
Placing two tablets in her hand, I watch her take them with a big sip of water. “Try eating, Butterfly.”
She takes a dainty bite, chewing slowly. I keep urging her as we both eat—well, I don’t really eat, more like inhale my food. A hard workout always makes me famished.
After she’s cleared half her plate, she sets down her fork, looking sleepy. I take the tray back to the kitchen and return to her. Her eyes are half-closed, ready for a nap. I help adjust the pillows, allowing her to lie down.
Not wanting her to fall asleep alone, I sit with her, waiting for sleep to pull her under. I run my hand over her silky face, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under my fingers. In her drowsy state, she leans into my touch, her face cradled in my hand.
My heart stutters in my chest as I watch the woman who has claimed me relax under my protection. I sit with her until her body settles and her breathing evens out.
“Rest, Butterfly,” I say, leaning in to kiss her softly on her pillow lips. “I’ll be here when you wake.”