Page 9 of His to Protect

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 me—or 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.

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