Treasured Page 2

  She gasps. “Ever?”

  I shrug, and when her eyes start to water again, I pivot back to what happened. “Why are they after you?”

  She swallows hard. “I don’t know.”

  A lie. She can’t even look at me as she tells it. I should push her, figure out what the fuck is going on. But I don’t. For some reason, I can sense that she’s … delicate. And not just because of what happened. She’s a tender little soul. Nothing like me. And if I apply too much pressure, she might break. She’s been through enough.

  “Is there someone you can call? Your family or friends?”

  She snorts. “Friends? I’ve never had those. And my family …” She fades into silence with a shake of her head.

  Secrets. God, for an innocent little thing, she’s wrapped tightly in them.

  “I really am sorry about your vase. Was it pretty?” Her voice is almost a whisper.

  “Forget about it.” I run a hand through my hair and make a decision. “Look, I’m going to take you to my place until we can figure out where it’s safe for you to go.”

  “I don’t even know you. I shouldn’t.” She sniffles.

  “Okay, so give me an address where I can drop you.” I glance at her. “Milly?”

  She hugs her legs even tighter. “Your place is fine.”

  I’m already well out of the city and into the rolling hills and stretches of forest that dot the countryside. No one’s tailing us. My phone’s been silently dinging with notifications that I’ve ignored. God, I’m fucked.

  When I sense her shivering, I crank the heat.

  “Thank you.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I cry a lot.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I hit the button to open my gate, then ease up the long, winding driveway. “Milly, I won’t hurt you.” I look at her, holding her gaze and driving the narrow lane by memory. “You don’t need to be scared of me. Okay?”

  “I’m not.” She gives me a nod. “I just feel so … Messed up inside.” She taps the side of her head.

  “You just went through something big. It’s understandable.”

  Once we’re in the garage, I get out and walk around to help her. She looks tired, the adrenaline fading from her system, and she winces as she takes a step.

  “Let me.” I scoop her into my arms. She’s so light and warm, and when she snuggles against my chest, I realize it was a mistake to bring her here. Hell, I’ve made a series of bad calls from the moment I saw her, and I’m the sort of man who never makes mistakes.

  I carry her into the back hallway, then stride past the study, my office, and the kitchen.

  Mrs. Verne peeks out from the main dining room, a duster in her hand. “Well, hell, Mateo. That doesn’t look like a vase.”

  “Thanks,” I deadpan. “I guess I just got confused. Oops.”

  She smirks. “Smartass.” Following me, she starts peppering me with questions about what the hell happened and who is currently in my arms.

  “Go do some more midnight dusting, crazy old lady. I’ve got this.” I shake my head and climb the stairs.

  “You’ve got trouble. That’s what you’ve got, young man,” she calls at my back.

  “Who’s that?” Milly’s warm breath washes over my neck, sending a thrill of heat down my spine.

  “Don’t mind her. That’s Mrs. Verne. She’s my housekeeper, cook, secretary, general pain in my ass. Harmless.”

  “She seems nice. Your house is really big. I’ve never been this far out of town before. My leg hurts. I know I shouldn’t complain about it. And I know I shouldn’t cry.” I feel a tear hit the base of my neck. “But I’m just tired and confused, and it hurts.”

  “I’m going to take care of you, Milly. Do you trust me to do that?” I carry her into my bedroom, then through to my bathroom.

  “Yes.” She nods.

  “Good.” I gently put her down on my bathroom counter. “You can let go now, Milly.”

  “Oh.” She releases her death grip on my shoulders, then meets my gaze. “Sorry.”

  “You’re fine. Now let me see.” I kneel in front of her, and I can’t stop myself from letting my gaze wander up her thighs. Mateo, fucking focus. I look at her knees and farther up one thigh. “These leggings are done.” I grip the hole at her knee. “May I?”

  “May you what?”

  I pull the fabric apart, splitting it all the way up until I see the bottom edge of her pink panties.

  “Oh!” She yelps and grips the edge of the white marble. “Yeah. They pretty much destroyed them already. It’s okay.”

  My mouth waters, and my cock is acting up. This isn’t my style. Not the savior shit, or the doctor shit, and certainly not the get-hard-as-fuck-out-of-nowhere shit. Even so, I don’t stop.

  I reach for the cabinet with the alcohol and bandages. That’s when she leans over a little and spreads her legs to get a better view of the cut along her thigh.

  “No wonder it hurts.” She shakes her head. “Ouch.”

  I stare at her panties, at the hot pink hearts along the pale pink fabric. She doesn’t notice, doesn’t see the way I can’t stop looking at her innocent little panties. I have to stop. I have to.

  I don’t.

  I break out in a fucking sweat. Jeez.

  Get it together, asshole! I gather the supplies and kneel in front of her again. Her trusting gaze meets mine, and she says, “Thank you for helping me” so sweetly I can almost taste the sugar. Fuck me.

  She may need some first aid, but I’ll need a cold shower by the time I’m done playing doctor.

  4

  Milly

  For a big man, his touch is gentle. He takes his time tending to my cuts. I lean back and let him handle it. My eyes feel so heavy. Sleep is trying to lure me under, but I don’t want to go. I want to watch him work. I memorize his handsome face now that I can get a better look at him with the lights.

  He’s not your typical handsome. His face is all hard lines and edges. It makes him look fiercer and more intimidating than he already is. I itch to reach out and run my finger along his jaw or the slope of his nose. It’s as if he’s been carved from stone like a protective warrior. Tonight he was my warrior, even if he hadn’t intended to be. I always somehow end up being a burden to the people around me. A nuisance that needs to be looked out for.

  If my father had offered me this man when he tried to put a bodyguard on me, I might have cracked and let him. Even his dark gray eyes are intense and only add to the idea that he’s been etched from stone.

  His hand pauses on my leg, and I realize that it’s because I’m touching him. I don’t stop, though. I run my finger right down his jaw. The small stubble feels nice under my finger. I swear he leans into my touch for the briefest of moments.

  “Sorry.” I drop my hand, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. Great. He’s probably going to think I’m some sort of weirdo now. I mean, more than he already does.

  “Just caught me off guard. It’s fine if you want to touch me. Have at it.” His words surprise me.

  I’m not sure if he’s teasing me or not. My brother always says I’m not good at picking up on when he’s being sarcastic. We’re only a few years apart, but it might as well be a decade with how different we are from one another.

  “Ouch!” I whimper when he applies alcohol to the biggest cut. He leans down and blows on it. Holy smokes. I suck in a loud breath and try to press my thighs together as a rush of unexpected need hits me. Mateo stops me from closing them, only making the need intensify.

  “Don’t,” he orders. “I’m not done, and it will hurt if you press the cut against your other leg.”

  “Right.” Instead, I press my hands to my cheeks and take deep breaths, but it doesn’t help the ache. He puts a bandage over the cut before rising to his feet.

  “Milly.” He wraps his hands around my wrist and pulls them down. “You okay?”

  “I think so.” I nod. “Just a lot of feelings.”

  “You’ve been
through a lot.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Then you should sleep.”

  “Sleep sounds nice. I have a big test and….” I trail off. “I’m not going to be able to take my test.” I realize. “Oh no, my backpack.”

  “Not something you need to worry about tonight. You have a very reasonable excuse to miss a test.”

  “Yeah.” I suppose I do.

  They aren’t going to flunk me out. At least, I’m guessing they won’t. Somehow my brother has always had perfect grades, but I never see him studying. I know he’s not brilliant or crazy smart even if I don’t understand half of his sarcasm. I’m guessing the money my family gives the school has a lot to do with how he does so well. I know the donations must be pretty significant since the library bears my family name.

  “Let me get you something to wear.” He turns, leaving me alone in the bathroom. The second he’s out of my sight, a rush of panic hits me.

  Mateo comes flying back to the bathroom. “What?” He checks my inner thigh, and I realize I’m whimpering.

  “Sorry.”

  “You say that far too much.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Why are you upset?”

  “Got scared,” I mumble, feeling pathetic.

  This is the last thing this man needs. He probably thinks I’m the weakest, most needy human he’s ever met. I’m sure none of that is helping my cause. I’m sure me being like this is only making him regret saving me from those awful men.

  “I promise you’re safe here,” he reassures me. “Let me get you something clean to wear and then you can rest. Sleep will do you good.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nods before leaving the bathroom again.

  “This will have to do.” He returns with a shirt in his hand. I take it from him, bringing it to my nose. It smells of laundry detergent and him. “I’m sure it will fall to your knees.”

  “Since it's yours, I’m sure it will.” I grab my hoodie and pull it off. Mateo’s eyes widen before he spins around, giving me his back.

  “Sorry.” Jeez. He really doesn’t want to see my boobs. That shouldn't bother me, but it does. He’s just being a gentleman. That’s a good thing. Ugh, what is wrong with me?

  “There’s that word again.”

  “I have a bra on.” It’s a sports bra. The least sexy thing in the world. It gives me a uniboob. Probably why he doesn’t want to see them. Great. Why didn’t I wear something cuter? Cause you don’t own anything cuter. Duh.

  I pull the bra off since I’m going to bed before putting his shirt on. As I start to slide down off the counter, Mateo turns back around, and his hands go to my hips to help me down.

  “You good?” he asks.

  I nod and try not to wince at the pain.

  “All right. Let's get you tucked in.” His hand wraps around my wrist, and he leads me into the bedroom. He pulls the covers back for me. I lift my knee to crawl in, but before I know it, I’m lifted up and placed gently on the bed.

  “Is this your bed?” I ask, glancing around the room. It’s decorated in masculine colors but still remains pretty basic. He doesn’t have anything personal. No photos or anything that can give me some insight.

  “Yeah,” He pulls the blanket over me.

  “Are you, um, sleeping here too?” I run my hand over the other side of the bed.

  He clears his throat. “Got a few things I need to check into before I can go to sleep.”

  “Oh.” I chew on my bottom lip, not wanting to be left alone. He’s a stranger, and I know I should be focusing on stranger danger, but he saved me. I flash back to those men who grabbed me, and I can feel the fear rising up my throat.

  He must see my distress. “Why don’t we keep the bedroom door open? I’ll only be in my office. Not far at all. You’re safe.”

  “You’ll come back later?” I ask, hoping he isn’t planning on leaving me alone in this strange house for the night. “You have to sleep.”

  “I’ll come back when I’m done.”

  “Here?” I tap the other side of the bed to make sure we are clear.

  He glances at the sofa along the far wall beneath dark windows.

  “Please?” God, I’m so needy and foolish. But I can’t help it. He saved me. He’s the only thing that’s keeping me calm right now, making me feel safe. I want him close.

  “If you’re okay with that.” He lifts a brow.

  “It’s a big bed, and it is your bed.”

  “All right,” he agrees.

  I lie back, making myself comfortable.

  “I’m going to turn this light off, but I’ll keep the hallway one on. That work for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you need me, just call my name. I’ll come.”

  “Promise?” Jeez, could I be any needier?

  “Promise.”

  I relax, finally letting my eyes close. To my surprise, sleep finds me quickly. So do sweet dreams of my very own warrior.

  5

  Mateo

  This is what I get for pulling a job in my own backyard. Everything’s been shot to hell, and now I have a woman in my bed who’s as mysterious as she is beautiful.

  I linger in the doorway to my bedroom until I hear the even sound of her breathing. She fell asleep quickly. I hope she can rest for a long while. Her body and mind need to recover from the trauma.

  Scrubbing a hand down my face, I keep watch for a few more moments. Her chest rises and falls evenly, and she looks like an out-of-place angel in my bed. Even so, I like her there. And worse than that, I like the way she asked me to sleep beside her. She’s clearly in shock still. That’s the only reason she’d want me in bed with her. But I couldn’t say no. Not to her.

  My phone buzzes a few more times, and I finally pull myself away from my bedroom and stalk down to my office. When I open the door, a flash of jet black has me jumping back.

  “Scarab.” I groan and shake my head at him.

  He meows and rubs against my leg.

  “How long have you been in here?” I lean down and rub his whiskered cheeks. “Did Mrs. Verne close the door on you again?”

  He doesn’t answer, but I get the feeling he was probably snoozing between the curtain and the window and got locked in by accident.

  “She would’ve remembered you eventually, but try to be more thoughtful on where you take your naps, all right? She’s getting older. It’s not easy for her to search high and low for you.”

  He headbutts my hand as I rise. Then he turns, tail twitching, and trots off toward the stairs.

  “Hey, there’s someone in my room. Don’t bother–” But he’s disappeared before I can even finish my admonition.

  I sink into my office chair and pull my phone from my pocket. Missed call after missed call show up on my screen. I need to get my story straight concerning what happened. I can’t make any mention of Milly, though it won’t take long for someone to connect the dead kidnappers to the art thief, especially when the busted vase is right in the middle of it all.

  Rolling my shoulders to try and release the tension, I reach for the phone and dial my client’s number. It goes through a series of encrypted channels before ringing through.

  “Mr. Klein,” the man answers, his nasal voice full of obvious displeasure. “You destroyed my vase.”

  Technically, it never belonged to him, but now isn’t the time to parse his words. “There was an unforeseen complication.”

  “One that left two men dead. Yes, I’ve heard.”

  “The contract is canceled. I’ll return your deposit via wire.” I open my laptop.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to be good enough, Mr. Klein.” He tsks.

  I lean back and try to control my irritation. I’m fucking tired, have a lot of damage to repair, and more than anything else–there’s a woman in my bed who wants me next to her. I should be thinking about making this client happy or doing damage control or–I don’t know–even the assholes I killed. But I’m not wasting a
ny brainpower on those things. Everything in me is pointed like an arrow right at Milly. The sooner I can crawl into bed next to her, the better.

  “That vase was to be the pinnacle of my collection. You promised me it would be an easy job, one you could accomplish with relative haste and discretion.”

  “As I said, there was an unforeseen–”

  “Complication,” he cuts in. “Yes, I heard you. However, this mishap on your part has done a great deal of damage to me personally. As such, I expect full repayment.”

  “I already told you I’d wire the deposit to you.”

  “No. That simply won’t do.”

  I knew this was going to be sticky. This customer is well-known for his demanding ways. But he’s trying my fucking patience with this bullshit.

  “Tell me what you need to smooth this over.” I try to keep the edge out of my voice but fail.

  “Nothing will ever replace the item you destroyed. However, there is a similar piece in a private collection that will serve as a suitable stand-in. I’ll send you the details on the piece, the address, and the name of the collector. Once you have the item in-hand, I’ll cancel my contract with the Brotherhood on you.”

  I sit up, my grip on the phone tightening. “You put out papers on me with the Brotherhood?”

  “Mr. Klein, I’m a serious businessman. I can’t be seen allowing an abject failure such as yours to go unpunished.”

  Visions of murdering the ever-loving fuck out of the man on the other end of the phone dance in my head. But I don’t even know who he is. He spends top coin to cover his tracks, and I never had any need to discover his true identity. Until now.

  “I’m glad we’re in agreement. Happy hunting.” The line goes silent, and I slam my phone down.

  “Problem?” Mrs. Verne walks in, her gait slightly unsteady. She’s been in the liquor cabinet again.

  “Pour me one while you’re at it.” I point to the small bar table near the fireplace. “He wants me to steal something else or he’ll have my fucking hide, thanks to a Brotherhood contract.”