Page 7 of Blade’s Protection

He climbed another step, and I made my decision. I opened the door silently, stepping into the doorway, letting him see all six-foot-three, two-hundred pounds of pissed-off former Special Forces soldier.

"You lost?" My voice carried quiet menace.

He froze, hand halfway to the rail. In the dim light, his face went pale.

"I said, are you lost?" I descended one step. "Because there's nothing for you here."

"I was just⁠—"

"Leaving. You were just leaving." Another step down. "And you're going to spread the word. The nurse is off-limits. Protected. Anyone comes near her, they deal with me. And trust me—" I smiled, the one that had made Taliban fighters piss themselves, "—you don't want to deal with me."

He stumbled backward, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste to flee. I watched until his shitty car disappeared around the corner, then did another perimeter check. Nothing. But they'd found her already. Found my place. The game was escalating.

When I came back inside, Tiffany stood in the bedroom doorway, my t-shirt riding high on her thighs, fear and something else in her expression.

"Was someone⁠—?"

"Handled." I locked the door, threw the deadbolt. "Go back to bed."

"I heard voices."

"Just a wrong address. Nothing to worry about."

She moved closer, and I saw it wasn't just fear in her expression. It was heat. Arousal. She'd heard the threat in my voice, the promise of violence to protect her, and it had affected her.

"You were going to hurt him. For me."

"I'd kill him for you." The truth escaped before I could stop it. "Anyone who tries to hurt you dies. Simple as that."

She took another step closer, close enough that I could feel her warmth, smell my soap on her skin. "I'm not scared when you're here."

"You should be scared of me most of all."

"Why?"

Because I wanted to pin her against that wall and show her exactly how not-innocent she could be. Because sixteen years between us should matter but didn't when she looked at me like that. Because she was soft everywhere I was hard, light where I was dark, and I wanted to corrupt every inch of her.

"Go to bed, Tiffany."

"Come with me."

Jesus Christ. My cock went from interested to demanding in one heartbeat. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I'm asking you to sleep in your own bed. With me. Because I feel safer when you're close." She reached out, fingers grazing my chest. "And because you want to."

I caught her wrist, not hard, but firm. "I'm forty years old. I've killed people with my bare hands. I've done things that would give you nightmares. You're twenty-four with your whole life ahead of you. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want." Fire flashed in her expression, and fuck if it didn't make me harder. "I'm not a child. I'm not innocent. And I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

"But I'm not." She pressed closer, those perfect curves brushing against me. "I know you won't hurt me. You'd die before you hurt me."

She was right. And that was the problem. She saw too much, understood too much. Saw past the scarred exterior to something I'd thought died in the desert years ago.

"This can't happen," I said even as my hand moved to her waist, spanning the soft curve there.

"It's already happening." She rose on her toes, mouth inches from mine. "We both felt it yesterday. The second you walked into that clinic."