Passing His Guard

It took her several minutes to realize she was caged in the strength of arms. Her fists were gripping the lapels of his suit as she soaked his black silk shirt with her tears. Her forehead rested against the solid plane of his chest. Each shuddering breath dragged his scent deeper into her lungs until it seemed his very essence infused her soul, giving her his calming strength.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. We’re going to figure this out. I promise. Just trust me . . . Can you do that?”

She nodded against his chest, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. His head dipped and his lips brushed against her cheek . . . her forehead . . . When they grazed her temple she winced and Aiden growled a nasty oath. His hands cupped her face, tipping it up for inspection. His brows drew tight in a pinched scowl as his fingers slipped into the hair at her temple, carefully probing.

Ouch!

She shrank back from his touch, but he persisted, gently parting her hair for a closer look. His scowl deepened. “You’re hurt. What in the hell happened, Rya

Wow . . . and she’d thought he looked angry before. There was Aiden mad at her, and then there was Aiden mad at the world. The severity in him was like night and day.

“How did you get hurt?”

Suddenly, his hands were all over her—in her hair, checking her scalp for any other bumps or bruises, feeling along the back of her neck, the sides of her throat, his thumbs tracing the curvature of her clavicles. He touched her with the deft efficiency of a fighter who’d performed more than one quick exam on an injured partner.

“Aiden, stop. I’m fine,” she said, reaching up to grab his wrist before his hands-on inspection could go past her shoulders. It didn’t matter that he didn’t intend for it to happen, his touch was turning her on, and this was not the time to get those emotions involved.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded.

“The man Moralli called Frank. He came to my house last night. I opened the door when he knocked. I thought . . . I thought he was you.” She shrugged. “He wasn’t. I tried to run upstairs to get my father’s gun, but he caught my ankle and I fell. I hit my head on the stairs. That was the last thing I remember until Vincent came to the room they locked me in and questioned me about you and my dad.”

“Fuck . . .”

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up, all right.

“You sure you’re okay? Head injuries can be serious.”

“I’m fine. The spot is tender and I have a headache, but it’s manageable. I’d just really like to go home. It’s been an exhausting day.”

“I’m taking you home so you can pack your bags. It’s not safe for you to stay there, Rya

“Wow, you make the offer sound so romantic. How can a girl refuse?” It was a pitiful attempt at humor, but it was all she had to give.

Aiden did his part by giving her a lopsided grin and shrugging. “What can I say, I am Disco Kruze. I do have a way with the ladies.”

A bubble of laughter burst out at his comeback, and, man, did she need that. It gave her hope she didn’t have thirty minutes ago, and a sense that although their situation looked pretty hopeless right now, they were in this together and they were going to get through this—together.

“Wow . . . Aiden, the view from here is amazing! You can see Ellis Island!” Rya

After giving her a brief tour, he deposited her bags in the spare bedroom across from his. She wasn’t expecting him to try to move her into his room and told herself not to let it sting that he hadn’t offered. She liked the idea of having her own space, but she liked the idea of spending her nights in Aiden’s bed even more.

She wasn’t naïve enough to think that one heartfelt confession of love blurted in the middle of an emotional breakdown was going to repair the damage done to his trust. She’d have to earn that, and although she was i

After showing her around, he headed to his room, shedding his suit on the way as if he couldn’t get out of the thing quick enough. She wouldn’t think about how gorgeous he looked in that charcoal-gray pinstripe with the black silk shirt. That he’d left his piercings in added an element of badass to the contradictions that were Aiden Kruze. She loved his complexity, she loved his depth—she loved . . . him.

Sighing, she turned away from the wall of glass and did another slow take of his home. Plush rugs broke up the dark marble flooring that appeared to be variegated shades of maroon and black. The place was sparsely yet elegantly decorated. It was nothing like she pictured Aiden’s home would be. She found herself smiling as she thought of the first time she’d seen him at the gym. If someone would have told her then that this place belonged to that man, she never would have believed it.

The cool feel of the place didn’t surprise her, or the lack of personal effects. In fact, she’d yet to find so much as a degree on the wall or a photo on a shelf. The most personal thing she could find was the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lining one of the living room walls, opposite the stone wall fireplace. Slowly, she made her way to the mahogany case and ran her finger along the wooden shelves as she sca

She slid the book back into its home and pulled out the one beside it. East of Eden, by John Steinbeck. Deep and dark . . . she wasn’t surprised this would appeal to him. Rya

“Rya

She startled at the sound of Aiden’s voice, much closer than she was expecting. How long had he been standing there watching her? She hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Cripes, you scared the crap out of me!” she exclaimed, putting the book back before turning to face him. Now she knew what had taken him so long. He was freshly showered, the dampness in his hair turning the dark spiky strands black. The gray graphic T he wore was threadbare and had a faded yellow Batman emblem across the chest. It was so classic male and yet it had such a boyish charm, she bit the inside of her lip to hold back her grin.

What was not boyish, however, was the way said T-shirt clung to all those chiseled contours and hard muscles. That was all man—100 percent pure male fighter, to be exact—and Rya