Concerto (North Security 2)

And I’m not going to leave Samantha exposed out here for one more second, not for anything, not when I feel her trembling in my arms.

When we get home, I carry her upstairs, even though she protests she can walk. I consider taking her to my room—I want her in my bed, where she’ll be safe. And never leave.

Instead I force myself to carry her to her bedroom. I set her down on the warm tile of her bathroom floor as I turn the water to hot and fill the tub.

She works at the hem of her shirt, getting herself caught in the fabric. She’s too worked up to undress herself—and so I’ll do it for her. I unveil each inch of skin with undue care, mindful of bruises that might form in the next few hours, even days. Small quivers take her muscles, a reminder that she isn’t as composed as she wants me to think.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen her fully naked.

Even with danger so nearby, my body reacts to hers with intense arousal. As I pull her panties down her legs, exposing her slender thighs and the dark curls between them, my cock reacts with a throb. I want

the ultimate sign of life, her cunt pulsing around me, slick and warm and soft. She looks like a dream, full of rosy peach hues and creamy vanilla. There is no end to the places I want to taste her. I could make her stand in the foyer as a living statue. It’s sick, the ways I want to see her, use her, the ideas her bare body gives me. Depraved.

Instead I help her into the bathtub, where I wash her with soap. Everywhere. Even when she blushes and murmurs in embarrassment, I slide the soap over her nipples and between her legs. Between the firm cheeks of her ass. There is a primal need inside me, to serve her, to care for her, and I’m as helpless to the urge as she is. She’s Venus with her upturned breasts and demure pose. Her hair falling around her in erotic abandon. There’s never been anything more beautiful than this. Enough to bring a man to his knees. Enough to make me wish I was anything other than her former guardian.

I use the peach-scented bottles to wash and shampoo her hair, my rough hands working carefully through the strands, making them lather and then cream and then clean again.

When she’s dry, I tuck her into bed with its pale pink sheets and white lace coverlet, with the cream-colored throw pillow with a brown violin embroidered on it. God, she looks so vulnerable in that bed. So vulnerable and impossibly strong. The urge to hold her runs through me, a physical sensation that makes me tremble.

I turn to leave her, forcing myself to let her rest. She deserves that much.

“Don’t go,” she whispers.

The bed is twin-size, which isn’t enough for the both of us. And it highlights how young she is, how wrong I was to ever let her climb into my king-size bed down the hall.

Shivers run through her, and I climb in behind her, pulling her close into the fortress of my body. My eyes are wide. Sleep will be impossible tonight. Tomorrow. Maybe ever. All I can do is watch over her. No one will touch her.

She drifts into a restless slumber, her body warm but still shivering.

SAMANTHA

Liam wakes me up just before midnight, nudging me gently out of the hazy, dark sinkhole of dreams. It takes me a moment to remember that the crash wasn’t only in my imagination. New twinges wake up throughout my body as I move to stand, and I can’t hide a wince.

“Dr. Foster’s downstairs,” he says, a knowing sympathy in his eyes. “And the police want to ask some questions. I’ve given them fifteen minutes. They know you need to sleep.”

I manage a wry smile. “If a question gets too personal, you’ll step in?”

He raises an eyebrow, bemused by my mood. I’m bemused, too. It’s a strange thing to realize I miss his overprotective tendencies. Maybe that’s how I truly know I’ve grown up—that I can long for the relative safety of my childhood with Liam North.

But the detectives are courteous and professional. Unlike the reporter, they haven’t been digging into my personal background before they show up. They aren’t aware there’s any connection between my father and what happened tonight. Did the driver interact with you before he rammed from behind? Do you know why he was chasing you?

They show me a photo of him, leaning back in the driver’s seat, a neat hole in the center of his forehead. I shiver, and Liam rubs slow circles on my back. Have you seen him before?

No, no, and no.

The doctor looks me over and declares me healthy—some bruising, he says, offering a prescription that is guaranteed to numb the pain.

“No,” I say because I think the nightmares may be worse.

Liam accepts the bottle with a grim nod, keeping it safe in case I need it.

Then he takes me back upstairs and tucks me into bed. “What about Laney?” I ask, pain and adrenaline making me jittery. “What about Cody’s truck? His dad—”

“I know,” Liam says, his green eyes fathomless. “I’ll take care of them.”

“You said he’s not your business.”

“I was wrong, Samantha.”