His to Protect: A Fireside Novel(4)

“I mean, I don’t have sex in my house. Ever.”

“Ever?” Her brows jumped up her forehead and her eyes widened.

That time, I did laugh. “Not since my ex-wife. Call it baggage or whatever. My point is, I don’t bring women home to have sex with, and I’m not that kind of man. You’d be safe there.”

I hadn’t even had sex in the six months since Mara left. Hadn’t felt the desire to, either, but the rule about not fucking where I shit had been arbitrarily created in my mind, should the desire ever present itself. Mara had figuratively stabbed me in the chest with her stiletto heel on her way out the door, leaving only a note written on her personal stationery. It was stationery she’d had since before we married and she’d never ordered new stock with her married name. Apparently her stash got low, and it was either order more with my name on it or leave.

She clearly chose the more convenient option.

I was in no place to consider putting myself back in that situation, and I figured when I did start wanting to screw everything that moved in a clichéd rebound maneuver, women wouldn’t enter my home.

“I’m at a hotel.”

I pulled out my wallet and removed a business card that had my cell number on it, holding it out for her. “This has my number and you know where I work. If you need anything while you’re in town, call meor if Boomer needs a yard to run in.”

Her eyes flicked down to her dog and I saw her consider the idea for a brief moment.

She licked her lips when she looked back at me, taking the card before stepping away. “Thank you. But we’re good.”

I shrugged and slid my hands into my back pockets. “Your call.”

“Thank you, again, for the dinner.” She held up the container of food I gave her. “And for this.”

“Anytime.”

As soon as I spoke the word, I realized I meant it.

This woman was a puzzle and she had secrets.

I didn’t really care.

I watched her climb into her car, shoving Boomer into the backseat before he quickly climbed over the console and took a seat in the front passenger side. I couldn’t help but brush my finger along my bottom lip when she pulled into traffic.

Her hand lifted in a quick but hesitant goodbye, and I mirrored her movements before my finger settled back on my lip.

I wanted to help this woman.

There was something about her vulnerability, despite trying to be strong…it called to something inside of me.

Something my dad taught me when I was a kid and drilled into me as I grew up.

Men were protectors.

We may fight each other, but we didn’t fight our women. We protected them and cherished them and honored them.

And I knew, as Trina’s headlights faded away when she turned right at the next corner, that she hadn’t had that.

At least, not for a very long time.





Chapter 3


Trina


Despite my recent past, I knew not all men were like Kevin.

I knew that just because I married a man who ended up being a monstera man who hid his lies behind a perfect smileit didn’t mean there weren’t still good men in the world.

Some were decent. They had to exist.

Some loved their women and their wives. My father, as misguided and distant as he was, never spoke an unkind word to my mother or myself. He certainly never raised his hand in anger. In fact, he was so levelheaded that I don’t think I’d ever even heard him raise his voice in anger.

Except for the time I snuck out and took his brand-new Mercedes for a joyride just weeks after getting my license. My high school friend Kelly and I ended up wrapping that beautiful piece of steel around a telephone pole when, driving way too fast, I slid through a puddle that was deeper than it appeared, broke too hard, and popped a curb.

That night was the first time I heard my father shout, and even then it was, “My new car!” When he turned to me, fists at the back of his neck, a vein pulsing in his temple, I cowered behind the wrecked car and stared at the man in awe as he took five cleansing breaths. Then he lowered his hands and, with disappointment clear in his eyes and his voice, asked, “Are you okay?”

He pulled me into his arms, held me way too tight, and made me promise I’d never break the speed limit again. Or steal his car. Or sneak out.

I would have promised him anything that night.

In fact, I did.

I promised him I would always listen to him. So when he introduced me to Kevin Morgenson, son of Kentucky’s beloved Senator Morgenson, at a fundraising benefit, and insisted we were perfect for each other, I didn’t think twice about it. He wanted the best for me.

I was sometimes thankful that he passed away before he could see what my relationship turned into.

I learned after I said “I do” that there were strings attached when you became involved with a senator’s son, one who had his eyes on his own campaign in the near future.

You stopped being a woman.

You began being a possession.

Even before the first backhand to my cheek, I was exhausted from trying to maintain a facade.

At the Fireside Grill, slightly lost inside my own head, eating dinner in the kitchen of what appeared to be a typical sports bar, I felt more like myself than I had since I was twenty-one years old, when my palm slid slowly into Kevin’s and we shook hands, and he said his first hello.

I didn’t realize how much I had changed, how much of myself I lost in the last eight years.

How I had become someone I barely recognized when I looked in the mirror. I wondered if that’s what Kevin had planned.

Small, insignificant changes over a long period of time, to erase the woman he’d dated all those years ago.

He wanted me to stay home and raise our children someday, and frankly, I thought it was a great idea.

I’d never wanted anything more than to become a mom.

I’d never seen a bigger purpose in life than raising a tiny, helpless infant into a person of character and strength, who would then pour their goodness into the people around them.

Some thought the idea of being a stay-at-home mom was antiquated.

I believed it was honorable.

So when Kevin and I were married, I saw no problem with quitting my job at a public-relations firm in the heart of Louisville, despite the fact that I loved my coworkers and my boss and my work.

When Kevin suggested I begin working out to occupy my time, and perhaps volunteer at the hospital, I saw the value in his suggestions.

When he ran his hands through my hair and smiled with a wistful look on his face one night after we’d made love and whispered, “I wonder what you would look like as a blonde,” I wanted nothing more than to give him what he wanted.

But when I came home late one night after going out for drinks with some other volunteers at the hospital and hadn’t had time to prepare his dinner, his glass of scotch flew by my head right before his hand connected with my cheek, and I knew nothing would be the same again.

He stole my hopes and my dreams with one slap.

When I went home the next day to cry on my mother’s shoulder and ask for advice, she dealt a crushing blow when she admitted to me that she’d just been diagnosed with leukemia. Because of my parents’ poor retirement planning, she didn’t have any money left to cover her medical bills.

She begged me to stay with my husband in order to help her.

Naive and desperate, I wanted to believe Kevin when he apologized, wrapped me in his arms, and promised it would never happen again.

But Declan, the man who assessed me and stood away from me tonight, careful to stay out of my personal space as soon as he clocked the bruise on my cheek and glanced away, didn’t seem to be that sort of man.

His offer to feed me, and taking it upon himself to make me a lunch, suggested the same.

The fact that he walked me to my car and offered me a place to stay confirmed it.

He was not a man like Kevinwho was truly no man at all.

Declan was better.

He appeared to be a man in every sense of the word, completely insane physique aside. Not that that wasn’t enjoyable to look at, with his tight shirt stretched so thin across his back I could see his muscles flex with every movement.

Plus, I had never seen a man’s backside look so good tucked firmly into a pair of faded and well-worn jeans.

Perhaps if I were more daring, if I didn’t have so many secrets and so many piles of insecurities built up inside me, I would have taken him up on his offer. If I was staying longer, if exhaustion wasn’t soaking into my limbs from the delicious and belly-filling food, I might have considered it. As it was, I only planned on staying in Michigan another night, since Declan could now identify me if it ever came to that.

I had already wasted enough time, but I had been enjoying my time in Latham Hills. I liked that I could walk the streets and browse through shops without a timeline because I needed to be home. For the first time in years, I was enjoying myself, despite constantly feeling like I had to look over my shoulder.

It was time to go, though. In a week, Kevin would know I hadn’t gone to the spa I told him I was going to, and he’d realize I wasn’t returning home. He’d come looking for me then, and I wanted to be long gone before he did.

With a new plan solidified, I pulled into my parking space at the Extended Stay Lodge on the northern fringe of Latham Hills. It was a ramshackle place with chipped bricks and old paint peeling from the outside walls.

The interior wasn’t much better, and I desperately wanted to go purchase my own set of sheets.