His Saint (Forever Wilde 5)

While he looked for what he wanted in the box, I focused on taking some calming breaths and reminding myself that this man was here to make sure I was all right. Because he was a nice guy. Not because he was my boyfriend.

And that was okay. I could accept his help and move on without putting some stupid meaning onto the encounter. But I couldn’t deny my reaction to his sudden hug by the front door. It had taken me by surprise at first, but then his body’s heat had seeped into me and I’d felt completely and utterly at home in his embrace. I shuddered again at the memory and tried to remind myself he was just being thoughtful. The embrace didn’t mean anything.

At least that was what the adult in me tried to tell the twelve-year-old in me who was beginning to have a massive crush on the handsome guy with the bandages.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath before taking another sip of my beer.

Saint’s brows lifted and he looked at me. “That bad?”

Yeah, dude. Apparently, I want you that bad.

“Just hurts a little,” I said. And that was true also.

“Okay, let me get this other bandage off first. Hold still.”

As he worked the bandage off gently, I studied his face up close. The golden stubble on his jaw after a full day, the thick light lashes setting off his blue-gray eyes, a freckle on the sharpest point of one of his cheekbones. He was so beautiful, and I wondered if people told him that all the time.

He shook his head and grunted.

“What?” I asked.

“This mess happened over a week ago. I can’t believe I was here last night and didn’t know you were coming home to this. Why didn’t you say something? I could have come in and helped you clean up or something,” he muttered as he tore open some cleansing wipes.

“It’s just the furniture out of place. And besides, it’s not your problem.”

He looked up at me, pinning me with a glare. “Does it have to be my problem for me to give a shit?”

“No, but why would you? You don’t even know me,” I pointed out.

Saint rolled his eyes and went back to treating the cut on my arm. “You’re an idiot,” he murmured as he cleaned my open wound with an alcohol solution.

I winced from the pain. “Why am I an idiot?” I snapped at him, letting the sting get the better of my self-control.

“I like you, Augie. I care about what happens to you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“You don’t even know me,” I repeated.

The corner of his lips turned up at that. “And whose fault is that?”

He went back to tending the wound and finished up with some fresh bandages before looking back up at me. “Where is the glass so I can clean it up? I don’t want you getting cut again.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can handle it,” I told him. Saint lifted an eyebrow at me, and I began to squirm under his attentions. “Fine. It’s in my bedroom.” I stood up and began walking out of the kitchen, Saint trailing behind me.

I wondered what he thought of my house. Despite the mess, I was proud of it. It had been in my family for a long time, and now it was mine. Over the years of spending summers here with my great-aunt Melody, the place had become a part of me—the closest thing I had to my very own haven—and having it invaded and destroyed had wrecked something inside of me.

When we walked through the doorway to the master bedroom, I felt my heart speed up as it had every time I’d seen it since the night of the break-in. The bed was undisturbed since I hadn’t tried sleeping in it since that night, but clothes were strewn all over the place, and the large mirror over my dresser was shattered.

“Jesus Christ, Augie,” Saint said from behind me.

“Yeah.”

“What were they looking for?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

He turned around and studied me. “Are you sure? This wasn’t done by some kids looking for drug money. This was a serious search-and-destroy mission. They were looking for something.”

I felt nerves in my gut and wished I hadn’t had those few sips of beer moments before.

“I honestly don’t know what they could have been looking for, Saint. I’m an antique appraiser for god’s sake. Not the keeper of the nuclear codes.”

“Did they take your computer?” he asked.

“Yes, but there wasn’t anything really important on there. I keep everything stored in the cloud.”

Saint looked around and stepped over piles of clothes on the floor. “Where is the glass? It looks like the mirror glass is all still in the frame.”

I stepped up behind him and pointed to a broken picture frame on my bedside table. He sat on the edge of my bed and pulled the photograph carefully out from the broken frame.