Chapter 11

A frown tugged at my lips. The situation with Smith nagged at me. For the past few days I'd been doing everything in my power to win his trust, to show him that he was safe here. Yet he continued to dog my footsteps everywhere I went.

He was like a bulky shadow, and it irritated the hell out of me. The only respite I got was when I used the bathroom or fell asleep. It was infuriating to say the least. I didn't know what he expected from me, but I was about done with this whole thing. It didn't even make sense. Every time I thought we were growing closer, he proved me wrong.

Over the last few days we'd established a routine of sorts. Smith would join me at work, assisting with whatever needed to be done, though he continued to stay out of the public eye. Once we returned home, he would cook—something I was immensely grateful for. After we'd cleaned up the kitchen, Smith would help me in the greenhouse until it got too dark to see.

Before bed, while I worked on knitting a new blanket, Smith worked out. As he became stronger, he'd taken to running laps around the house or doing a staggering number of pushups and sit ups. He was already filling out once more, the muscles on his body looking as if they'd been carved from stone.

While he was still too lean, his muscular stature would become even more apparent and intimidating over the next few weeks. It wouldn't be long before he was back to normal.

And ready to return home.

Every so often I felt his gaze stray to me, his stare moving over me like a caress. Not once though did he ever make an untoward move. While I appreciated it, I couldn't help but feel disappointed.

I flopped to my back and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. For hours I'd tossed and turned, unable to sleep, thousands of thoughts ricocheting through my mind. All of them centered around the man in the other room.

Memories assaulted me, one after another, and I closed my eyes. The flesh of his back, despite being riddled with cuts both old and new, was silky soft. His muscles felt sleek and sturdy under my fingertips, and I rubbed them together as they tingled.

He hadn't made a single sound of protest as I cleaned and dressed the wounds, and I marveled at his strength. He was so warm and solid, so damn masculine. I wanted to curl into him, bury my face in the curve of his neck and breathe him in.

I could still feel his hands on my hips, the way his long fingers curled into my bottom as he held me. I felt the weight of his stare as those dark eyes had burned into mine. I'd wanted to throw caution to the wind and lean into him, press my lips to his, fall into the abyss and never come up for air.

But something had changed in the blink of an eye. His gaze had shuttered, his muscles going rigid as he pushed me away. Was there someone else? Someone who loved this hard, obstinate man and whom he loved in return?

My stomach flipped at the thought, and I mentally admonished myself. I'd known the man for a week. I had no business getting attached to him—not like this. This situation was so completely out of the ordinary that I felt off balance. Nothing about my feelings made sense.

In so many ways he was stubborn and harsh. But there were times when I saw glimpses of a different man, one buried far beneath the surface. He was smart; I could see the intelligence sparkling in his eyes. He was strong and agile, silent as a cat when he wanted to be.

I wished he would trust me. Instead he treated me like a criminal, watching my every move like he was waiting for me to stick a knife in his back.

Bitterness crept up my throat. Before I fell asleep each night, I heard him checking every window and door before doing a perimeter check of the house. Back inside, he would settle in that chair in the living room and wait. Sometimes, while I lay in bed late at night, I heard him hovering in the doorway of my room, watching me.

What the hell had I done to make him so damn suspicious? And really, who did he think he was for judging me? He'd shown up in the middle of the night, beaten within an inch of his life. But I was the troublemaker? Hell, no.

Throwing the covers off, I practically vaulted from the bed, already reaching for my robe. I shoved my arms into the sleeves and hastily tied the sash as I stormed down the hall toward the kitchen. Smith must have heard my clipped footsteps, because he regarded me with a bemused expression as I swept into the room.

I crossed my arms over my chest, and he mimicked my movements, leaning against the cabinets and folding his arms over his broad chest. I glared at him. "Have I done something to make you hate me?"

That seemed to surprise him, because he blinked rapidly, his head tilting slightly to the side. He lifted a hand, but I launched into my tirade before he could stop me.

"You come in here"—I gestured at the room—"and act like I'm the bad guy here. I haven't done anything except help you, you arrogant ass."

His brows ratcheted up, and humor filled his expression. Anger simmered in my veins, and I stomped forward. "Don't you dare laugh at me." I poked him in the chest. "I think I deserve some answers."

The mirth in his eyes faded away. Face set in stone, he shook his head.

"Are you kidding me?" I shoved at his chest. "Who the hell do you think you are? I should have gone to the cops the second you showed up!"

He grabbed at my wrists, but I evaded him, slapping at his hands and face. His expression darkened further, and I knew I was playing with fire. But I couldn't stop. The resentment that had been building over the past few days finally bubbled over, inciting my rage.

"Get the hell out of my house!" I screamed, my voice breaking on the words. "I want you gone!"

He dodged my blows as I flailed wildly, aiming for any part of him I could reach. Huge hands grabbed first one wrist, then the other, and he pinned me to the wall. I screamed as loud as I could, knowing it was futile. He was too big, too strong.

He easily overpowered me, his torso pressing into mine as his fingers dug painfully into my skin. I went limp, the fight leaching from me as a different kind of fear took over. I was no match for him. I never had been. This was all a game to him, a way to manipulate me into doing whatever he wanted.

Tears suddenly burned across the bridge of my nose. I turned my face away, closing my eyes and refusing to look at him. My pulse thudded painfully in my ears, the rushing of blood drowning out everything else as adrenaline coursed through me. Several moments passed before Smith's grip loosened. But he didn't let go. Instead, his hands coasted up my forearms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

I tensed as his fingers trailed higher, over my biceps and shoulders, along my collarbone. My breathing turned shallow and my heart fluttered wildly behind my ribs. What was he doing?

Higher and higher his hands slid along my skin. I felt his thumbs brush my throat as I swallowed hard. They continued their ascent until he cupped my face in his huge hands.

Slowly, he turned my face forward once more. Unable to resist any longer, I opened my eyes and peered up at him. His face was set in an intense expression as he studied me, dark eyes boring into mine. His thumbs swept lightly over my cheeks, stroking me gently and wiping away the remnants of tears. The tenderness of his touch made me want to cry all over again.

My legs shook and I leaned into him. His gaze flitted over my face before returning to my eyes. His thumbs moved over my face in steady arcs, soothing me. I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he tucked my face against his chest. He was so solid, so warm and comforting... I didn't want to let him go.

I dug my fingers into his back, melding my body to his, absorbing every ounce of his strength. He held me tight, one arm banded around my waist as his free hand smoothed up and down my spine. It seemed almost surreal; Smith was always so cold, so domineering. Yet he held me like he... cared.

It hit me then. All those days in the shop, always keeping an eye on me even when I slept... He wasn't suspicious. He didn't hate me.

He was protecting me.