Page 9 of Wild River Daddy

He sheathed the knife before crossing back to her. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he squatted down to her eye level. Using the voice he used with skittish colts on the ranch back home, he said, “It's all right. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you understand?” She hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

After one more assessing look, he held out his hand, waiting for her to take hold of him. After helping her to her feet, she shocked the shit out of him by pushing him aside and walking over to where Moretti lay on the stone floor.

Before he could guess her intent, she kicked the man right in the face. And not just once. No, over and over again until Boone put his hand on her shoulder. At Boone’s touch, she twirled around to face him as if she had been stung. Fisting her hands, she beat on Boone’s chest.

Instinctively, he wrapped her in his arms. She struggled to get away, but she wasn’t going anywhere. “It's okay. You’re going to be all right. I’ve got you, babygirl,” he whispered, holding her close. He stroked her back with a gentle hand until she grew still, but her breathing was still rapid and shallow.

She startled him when she unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and pressed her soft cheek against his chest. The skin-to-skin contact seemed to settle her like nothing else, which was good. All he knew was he liked her cheek there, and not just a little. He liked it a lot. He continued to hold her longer than necessary, but for some reason, he couldn’t let her go.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“My pleasure,” he told her without thinking. “But if you’re feeling better, we need to get out of here. That copter landing on the roof was Nico Midnight.”

With a deep breath, she stepped back and looked up into his eyes with her beautiful blue ones. “Who are you?” she asked.

Before he could answer, someone banged on the door.

“Ottavio, my friend,” a voice called, “is there a reason you have the door locked? Eliatells me you have been taking liberties with my property. I can’t believe this is true. You, of all people, would know the consequences of that. Open the door so we can clear up this misunderstanding.”

Boone recognized that voice, too. Nico Midnight had no interest in fake accents. He didn’t need to play at being a bad guy. He was the real deal to his core. Boone fought the need to rip open the door and empty the magazine of his Glock into the man. The only thing holding him back was knowing what would happen to the girl beside him if he gave in to that need.

Ignoring Midnight, Boone stepped to the window and guesstimated the size. It was small, but he could make it work. Peering down from the second floor window, he reckoned the drop was long but survivable. Whether they could make the drop without injury was up for debate. It didn’t matter because there was no other choice.

Midnight still attempted to cajole his way into the room. “A key is on the way, Ottavio. It would be much better if you opened the door before it arrived.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. After everything the girl behind him had been through, he’d be damned if she was going to have to deal with the likes of a man like Midnight. Glancing behind him, he gave her a wink and a smile.

She didn’t know it yet, but he always kept his promises. He’d told her she would be all right and refused to allow her to be anything else.

Boone crossed to his pack and took out his stiletto knife. Softening his steps, he slid the blade of the knife into the lock in order to keep Midnight from opening the door. Thankfully, the lock was old-fashioned and designed to use a skeleton key. Hetwisted the blade, making sure it wouldn’t be easily dislodged, before turning back to the girl.

She wore a short skirt and a tight, cropped top that cut off just below her breasts. It had long sleeves, but he couldn’t believe they were much help from the way she shivered.

While she could probably make a grain sack look good, the outfit she wore wouldn’t suit her even if it wasn’t messed up. He could picture her in a pair of cutoff jean shorts and one of his plaid shirts tied at the waist. Maybe a pair of cowgirl boots and some of those kitten-eared headthings girls wear these days.

Holy shit. What in the hell was he doing, picturing her in clothes that would fit on his ranch? Picturing her in his shirt? Picturing her at all?

Time and place, big guy. Time. And. Place.

He wasn’t anything like the man on the other side of that door, but he sure was acting like it. Especially when she still wore clothes that bore rips and dirt that came from a struggle.

He needed to be focused on his new mission—getting her out of there unharmed. She was going to freeze in the early December night air when they made their escape. Not to mention the stacked strappy black heels she wore, which would be useless once they got outside and ran for cover.

Moretti had her dressed like a pretty doll, probably on Midnight’s orders.

He made his way back to her side. After pulling off his jacket, he held it out to her. “Here. Put this on—” He stopped when he realized he didn’t even know who she was. “What’s your name, little girl?”

It took her a minute, but she finally said, “Tildi. Well, Matilda, but I go by Tildi.”

His lips twitched. Cute. Why’d she have to be so damn cute? “Okay, Tildi not Matilda, put on my jacket. We have to move, and it’s cold out there. Hand me your shoes.”

She did as she was told without any questions. Was that her nature, or had those Cosa Nostra thugs conditioned her to act without asking? The Daddy in him was drawn to her, so he hoped it was the former. He flipped over the shoes she handed him, snapped off the spikes that most women thought were necessary and handed them back.

He halfway expected Tildi to react when he ruined the shoes, but she didn’t make a sound. She didn’t even blink. Lord knew his little sister would have thrown a fit. In the world of fashion, he’d been informed, black heels with red bottoms were expensive.

He scowled down at Tildi’s feet. “Those still aren’t going to be comfortable, but at least you can run in them without leaving tracks.”

Footsteps thundered down the hallway as Midnight spoke again. “There’s no escaping me, Ottavio. Why make this difficult, my friend? Open the door and–” Midnight broke off. A moment later, he bellowed out, “What!” and then snarled, “When? How many guards are down?” Pause. “Did the cameras catch who it is?” There was a longer pause for more muttering, and then Midnight roared, “Boone! BOONE! I’m going to slit you open from your throat to your dick and feed your entrails to the bears.”

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