Page 17 of Protected By Her Daddy

“Great. We’ll take it slow. Just to the park across the street.” His expression is serious, but his eyes hold a hint of… excitement? It can’t be the thought of dragging a convalescent around. Can it?

Going to my room, I grab my new sneakers and a thick cardigan. Then I take a deep, calming breath. What the hell has gotten into me? How can I be so intensely attracted to him? I’m not his equal. Gabriel is wildly out of my league. Older. Sophisticated. Accomplished. All the things I’m not. He’s a professional with a billion-dollar business, responsible for hundreds of people. Me? I’ve struggled just to stay alive and keep hunger and exhaustion at bay.

Never in a million years would a man like Gabriel Burns be interested in me.

“Any chance you could tie my laces?” I ask as I rejoin him in the hallway. “It’s the one thing I can’t do one-handed.”

Gabriel chuckles. “Sure.”

Once I’m double-knotted into my sneakers, we head for the elevator. “I still can’t believe this entire building is yours,” I say, looking up at the scrolling floor numbers as he presses the call button.

“Every floor,” he confirms. “Offices, training facilities, medical suites. Grew the company from the ground up and wanted everything under one roof.” The pride in his voice is clear, but it doesn’t come across as bragging.

“You’re good at what you do.” It’s more a statement than a question. I imagine Gabriel would be successful at anything he put his mind to.

“Let’s just say I have a knack for anticipating what people need,” he replies as the elevator doors slide open.

“Like rescuing stray women?” My attempt at humor is clunky, but I need him to know I don’t take any of this for granted.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling attractively at the corners. “Exactly like that.” There’s that warmth again, making me feel oddly precious.

The elevator hums softly as we descend, and I let out a shaky breath. If I’m going to heal, if I’m going to survive, I have to start trusting someone. May as well be the billionaire ex-Navy SEAL who seems hell-bent on saving me from myself.

The chill of the morning air hits me as we step outside, and I’m glad for the warmth of my cardigan.

“It’ll warm up,” Gabriel says as if he can command the sun to disperse its heat faster by willing it. Maybe he can.

We cross the road, his presence a comforting fortress beside me, but with each step, the nagging pain in my shoulder sharpens. I try to hide it, clenching my teeth, but when I wince, his hawk eyes catch it instantly.

“Let’s rest a bit,” he suggests, guiding me toward a park bench.

I nod, grateful, and as I sit, the ache eases, retreating to a dull throb.

The bench is cold, the iron biting through my cardigan. People move through the park, some strolling and taking their time, others striding with purpose, talking on phones as they continue their busy day.

“First time I’ve been out for weeks. Feels weird being outside again,” I murmur, shivering as I remember the fear of surviving in this city alone. The terror I experienced when that man attacked me. I thought I was going to die that night.

Gabriel clasps my right hand in his. “You’re safe, Wren.”

How does he always know what to say? What to do to ease my fears? His touch is warm, grounding. My hand fits in his like it’s meant to be there. My breath comes out shaky, but this time, not from fear.

He points to a muscular Black man absorbed in his phone a few benches away. “See that guy over there? That’s Luther. And that guy”—he points to a smaller, dark-haired man buying coffee at the nearby drinks cart—“is Ethan. They’re both ex-SEALs, and they both work for me.”

“Like bodyguards or something?”

Gabriel nods. “Or something. They’re responsible for your safety when I’m not around.”

“Luther? Ethan? You’re kidding me, right?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Let me guess. Benji is hiding in the bushes somewhere.”

“Of course not.” He laughs and shakes his head. “He’s back at the office.”

I stare at him. “So, you’re telling me you have three men working for you with the same names as the main characters in Mission Impossible?”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. Never watched those movies. Too far-fetched.”

“You haven’t seen them?” I gape at him in disbelief. “We need to change that, mister. I call for a Mission Impossible marathon at the weekend.” My eyes narrow as his mouth twitches suspiciously. “You’re messing with me.”

His deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, warming my insides. “About not having watched the movies, yes. But not about Ethan’s and Luther’s names.”

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