Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Rage
Everything happened quickly once Courtney announced she was in labor.
Daniil immediately gathered a security team.
Grim and three of our colleagues all accompanied Daniil and Courtney to the hospital.
It might seem like overkill but Daniil Gustaffson is technically Prince Daniil, first cousin to the king of an Eastern European country called Limaj.
He’s a non-working royal now, but still a royal.
Still a billionaire. Still a potential target while in a vulnerable situation, like his wife going through childbirth.
Mark Garrison, another one of the bodyguards we work with, came in to be with me, and Luna is supposed to be on her way back to man the cameras and phones.
Not a lot happens at the office late at night but it could.
Since Daniil is royalty, there’s always the possibility of danger.
He left Limaj to avoid that as much as possible, but nothing is guaranteed.
Courtney is as tough as they come but she’ll be vulnerable during labor.
Daniil is also a trained bodyguard and martial arts expert, but he’ll be distracted while Courtney is giving birth, and frankly, he should be able to be completely tuned in to his wife during that time.
Especially since he missed the birth of their first child.
We’ve been preparing for this, which is why Mark came in right away and Luna is on her way back.
I almost smirk, thinking about her date being interrupted.
Maybe that makes me a dick, but I absolutely hate the idea that she has a boyfriend.
I’ve never let a woman distract me before, and though a Friday night sparring session with my best friend isn’t something I needed to be completely focused on, I love to fight.
To train. A woman should have been the last thing on my mind at that moment.
Instead, she walked in and Grim clocked me good.
I’ve thought about her a lot more than is healthy the last couple of months, so the rush of jealousy I felt when I heard she was going out on a date didn’t surprise me.
What did surprise me was hearing the girls mention that she’s going to start trying to get pregnant.
She’s never even brought this Roger guy around—and everyone’s significant others come by regularly—but they’re serious enough to talk about getting pregnant?
Fuck that.
First chance I get, I’m going to try to talk her out of it.
There’s movement at the front doors that catches my eye, and I lean closer to the screen, on alert.
Is that Luna?
Unable to help myself, I get to my feet and peer around the corner. She’s limping into the lobby and her beautiful pink dress is covered in something I can’t identify. She’s carrying her heels and as she gets closer, I see her mascara has run down her cheeks.
Before I can stop myself, I walk over to her and snarl, “What the fuck happened? Did Roger do this?!”
She blinks up at me in confusion. “Wh-what?”
“What. Happened.” My heart is thundering and I’m ready to throttle whoever did this to her.
“I don’t…er…nothing.”
“Nothing?” I motion to her. “You’re covered in…something, and you’ve obviously been crying.” Now that I’m closer, I note that one of the straps of her dress is torn.
Oh, fuck no.
Without thinking, I gently but firmly grab her arm. “Did Roger hurt you?”
It’s like she’s been in a trance but my touch snaps her out of it. She yanks free and narrows her eyes in my direction. “No! Leave it alone, Rage.”
“I won’t.” I prevent her from walking around me. “What did he do?”
“Nothing!” She shoves at my chest, though it’s about as effective as it would be coming from a toddler.
“Luna.”
“Rage.”
We glare at each other.
Finally, as if she realizes she’s going to lose this battle, she sighs. “I had an accident. That’s all. And it’s…embarrassing.”
“Tell me anyway.” I fold my arms across my chest, waiting. Because if he so much as stepped on her toe, I’m going to break both of his legs.
She scowls. “Can you just leave it alone?”
“No.”
“Rage.” She pulls in a soft breath. “I’m sticky and wet and need to clean up so I can get to work. Can we—”
“Tell me. Now.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” She throws up her hands, almost clocking me in the face with one of her platform heels.
“I slipped. Okay? When I went down, I took a waiter with me and he dropped two orders of pasta on me. Roger tried to help, but when he started to lift me, he slid in the sauce and he went down too. Then the waiter tried, but I turned my ankle and couldn’t put any weight on it, so I went down a second time.
” Her eyes fill with tears. “Then they both tried, and in their efforts to get my fat ass up off the floor, my dress ripped. Okay? Are you happy now?”
I feel a million emotions in that moment.
Frustration.
Relief.
Anger.
I can only imagine how humiliating that was for her, and I fucking hate it.
“Did you just call yourself fat? You are not fat,” I say gruffly, eyes never leaving her face. “How bad is your ankle?”
“It hurts but it’ll be okay once I clean up and put some ice on it.” She starts to take a step. “Can I go shower now?”
“Hang on.” Then I speak into my earpiece. “Mark, can you take watch for a few minutes?”
“On my way,” he responds.
“Rage, I’m fine. I have clean clothes in my locker and—”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand, cutting her off.
She gives me an annoyed look, but I don’t care. I can’t leave the front of the building unattended but I’m not going to let her walk all the way to the showers at the back of the building on a potentially broken or sprained ankle.
“I’m here,” Mark calls. “Hey, Luna, are you—” He stops. “What’s on your dress?”
“Don’t ask,” she mutters. “There was an incident at a restaurant. And before you get all caveman-y, I slipped. There were no bad guys involved. Just me wearing heels on a very slippery floor.”
“Oh, shit. Yeah, go do what you need to do.”
“Thanks.” Before she can protest, I reach out and lift her in my arms, carrying her bridegroom-style toward the back.
“Rage!” She lets out a squeak of protest. “Put me down before you sprain something!”
That makes me laugh.
“You’re funny,” I say. “You think I don’t lift more than this every day at the gym?”
“I weigh…a lot.”
I roll my eyes. “By whose standards? Certainly not mine.”
“Society’s standards.”
“Society is stupid.” I stride into the ladies locker room since there’s no one else here and set her on the bench. “Tell me which locker is yours.”
“Fifteen.”
They’re all numbered so I open it—we don’t lock anything here, it’s not necessary—and look over at her. “What do you need so I can put it all close to the shower for you.”
I see her bristle but then she just sighs, almost as if she can’t bother fighting anymore. Which is a good thing because I’m not going to let her win until I decide whether or not she needs a doctor.
She tells me what to grab and I gather everything. I set it all on the bench beside her and then squat down. “Let me see your ankle.”
She lifts her foot, and I run my hands over an area that’s a little swollen but I don’t think it’s serious. I press on a few places, asking if it hurts, and then rotate her ankle in one direction and then the other.
“It’s fine,” she says quietly. “I roll my ankle every so often. It’ll be sore for a few days and then back to normal.”
“I’m going to take you into the shower, and then I’ll get an Ace bandage out of my locker. Once you’re dressed, I’ll wrap it for you.”
I see that same annoyance flicker in her eyes, but then she drops her gaze. “Okay. Thank you.”
I scoop her up again and carry her into the shower area, with her holding her things. “Yell when you’re dressed,” I say. “I’ll come get you.”
“I can walk, Rage.”
“Not until I wrap your ankle.”
Our eyes meet, and she seems to be trying to decide how to respond. Then she just nods, her face devoid of expression or emotion. “Okay. Thanks.”
I’m surprised she gave in so easily. I don’t want to fight with her, nor do I want to make her uncomfortable, but there’s no reason not to let me help.
We’re colleagues. She hurt herself, and I’m fairly skilled as a medic.
Not for anything serious, but cuts and bruises, sprains and strains, things like that.
If I thought the injury was serious I would force her to go to an ER.
Luckily, it’s not necessary.
Of course, now I’m thinking about her in the shower.
Naked.
This preoccupation is starting to annoy me, but I can’t deny the effect she has on me whenever we’re in the same room together. And carrying her? I finally had her in my arms and she was perfect. Soft and warm and sexy.
Physically, she’s my ideal. She’s about six feet tall and a big, beautifully curved woman.
I’ve jerked off more than once imagining my face buried in her breasts or picturing her riding my cock.
For a big guy like me, a woman who’s five feet tall and weighs ninety pounds is intimidating.
I’ve always been worried about hurting a woman like that just by virtue of my sheer bulk.
And I’ve dated women who fit that description. I don’t discriminate, but I do worry. I’m not just tall—six five and about two forty at the moment—but I have big hands, long legs, and a lot of muscle. If I’m honest, I’m big…everywhere.
I had a girlfriend in college who was a petite little thing. Gorgeous and brilliant, I liked her a lot, but we really struggled in the bedroom. Not only were there many positions we simply couldn’t manage because of the difference in height, I hurt her with the size of my dick.
Not intentionally—I would never do that—but I’m hung and she was…
tiny. It fit but I hated the way she winced, no matter how much lube we used.
The way she tried to pretend to like it because she liked me.
In the end, I couldn’t take the pain I caused her, and she was kind enough to pretend breaking up was about the fact that I was leaving since I owed the Marines four years after putting me through college.
So, that was it for me and tiny women.
Not that I have the time or inclination to date.
Or have a relationship. Generally speaking, I would be open to one but how do I bring a woman into the world I live in?
The one where I’m always in danger, always putting myself in sketchy situations in order to keep others safe.
It’s not conducive to a healthy relationship.
Except Grim and Allora seem to be doing it.
It hasn’t been long, though. I’m rooting for them, and I genuinely like her, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have doubts. Men like Grim and me—we’re not built for stability. We’re adventurers. Protectors. Heroes.
I hate using that word but it’s become part of my identity. Every time I save someone’s life or keep someone from being hurt, they use that word when they thank me. It’s a weird combination of flattering and embarrassing.
I can’t imagine how it would feel for the woman in my life to watch me walk out the door to go to work every day, knowing I might not come home. Because of that, I stick to casual hookups and women who aren’t interested in the long-term.
That works for me.
Unfortunately, I don’t think it would work for Luna and me.
Except for the fact that Luna haunts my dreams, and now that I’ve touched her, there’s no way I can keep pretending I don’t want her.