Hot Protector(34)
And now she was—and she fucking rocked it. She’d made him stop at Walmart on the way out of town so she could grab some makeup. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but she’d insisted it was part of the disguise. She’d gotten several things, but it was the cherry-red lipstick she was currently smearing on her lips that had all his attention. Her eyelashes were long, and she’d smudged her eyeliner in that sexy just-got-out-of-bed look he’d admired yesterday. She’d done it all while he was driving too.
The girl was fucking stunning. He just hoped she didn’t draw too much attention because he wasn’t sure how in hell a bottle of hair dye and some makeup was going to hide her from Grigori Androv’s men. In fact, he was pretty sure she would command men’s eyes instead of repel them.
“You’re going to draw too much attention,” he grumbled when she twisted the tube of lipstick and put it away. She turned to look at him, blinking those pretty eyes.
“Short of putting a bag over my head, I don’t know what you want me to do. Besides—” She reached into the shopping bag and pulled out a pair of black-rimmed glasses. She ripped the tags off and slid them on, the gold ring on her finger glinting as she did so. “A bag over the head would be even more noticeable than black hair and glasses… don’t you think?”
He gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead. Jesus, he’d never thought the naughty librarian look did anything for him, but apparently it did. Big-time.
“Maybe you should lose the red lipstick,” he grumbled.
She laughed and then turned and started gathering her hair. He didn’t watch what she did, but she rustled in the bag from time to time until she finally said, “There.”
He glanced at her. And had to stifle a groan. She’d twisted her hair high up on her head and pinned it, but a few strands still escaped to frame her face. Those cherry lips were wet, glossy, and he wanted to bite them.
It didn’t help that she’d come out of Walmart with a men’s plaid shirt that she’d put on over her tank top and then tied at her waist. The vee of the open shirt only served to call attention to her cleavage.
Fucking awesome cleavage, he might add.
“You look like a librarian who’s hiding a dominatrix underneath her sedate clothing.”
Sophie laughed. “Maybe I am,” she purred, and his cock jerked in response.
“No the fuck you aren’t,” he growled. “A dominatrix would have whipped the shit out of Androv and made him beg for more.”
He thought he might have hurt her feelings with that one, but she only arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you like being whipped, Chase?”
A lightning bolt of heat shot through him at her suggestive tone. Not that he wanted to be whipped or would tolerate it for even a second—but the idea of her in spiked heels and nothing else, holding a crop and running it between her breasts, was suddenly front and center in his brain.
“No, I don’t like to be whipped. Fuck no.”
“But you like spanking women, I’ll bet.”
Jesus H. Christ.
“Never tried it,” he drawled. “I might make an exception for you though. You need a good spanking, Sophie.”
She laughed. “You and what army? No way.”
He couldn’t help but snort a laugh. She was funny and sexy and sweet. She was also too trusting, at least where Grigori Androv had been concerned. For that, he did want to spank her. She needed to be more careful who she let into her life.
She propped a booted foot on the dash. “I wish you’d talked to me when you were visiting all those years ago. It would have been nice.”
“I wasn’t nice. I was a moody, pissed-off teenager who wanted to be somewhere else.”
“Yeah, I gathered that at the time. But it would have been less lonely for us both if you’d talked to me.”
“I’m sorry you were lonely, Sophie.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t always. But when I was, it felt like an eternity. Time dragged.”
“It dragged for me when I was in LA. I just wanted to go home again.”
“I wanted to go with you. Bet you didn’t know that.”
He shot her a look. “No… but why? I didn’t tell you anything about my home. I would have been far too self-conscious about it considering the difference in our circumstances.”
She dropped her head and fooled with the buckle on one of the boots. “I heard you talking to your mother sometimes. You put it on speaker, and she had such a lovely accent and sounded so warm and nice. I thought she sounded like what home is supposed to feel like.”
And just like that, she socked him in the gut, her words taking the air from his lungs. “You eavesdropped.”