Page 7 of Prince Charming

The moment she’d heard of Tag’s accident, she’d rushed to his bedside and stayed there for a full week. Keeping him company, reading to him. Worried out of her mind when he lost his sight.

Anything else other than a working relationship was out of the question.

Alone suited some people.

Marianna was some people.

If she had the choice of a friend in this entire world, it would be Tag.

But it was not meant to be.

THREE

“He hadn’t struck out that hard since little league.” - Luke Drake

From the way Tag observed Marianna all but hurl herself through the open doorway in her haste to get out of the office, he cut his eyes down to the floor to see if the soles of her shoes left skid marks.

Damn. He rarely struck out with a woman.

Not fuckingever.

If he were tallying up his score with women, he didn’t get dumped. He didn’t get friend-zoned or whatever the kids called it these days.

He was trying to benice.

She seemed so lonely. He couldn’t stop himself from trying to help the woman out of her shell. But as often as he tried, she doubled down and rejected whatever he offered.

He gave her free classes at the gym. Only to find she paid for a women’s only kickboxing down the street. He told her to help herself to any of the food in the staff kitchen and she brought her own lunch. He’d asked her to the club more than once, knowing the women would scoop her under their social wings.

At each turn, she politely told him to fuck off.

He bet she was saying it in Russian in her head.

A hero complex.

That’s what his boys ribbed him about all the time.

He wasn’t blind…now.

His better vision meant he knew she had a body right out of Hollywood.

Slim hourglass hips, long coltish limbs. Inky hair straight down her back when she let it loose, most often she tied it up in one of those pony things women liked. Her face was flawless. No freckles or scars, nude lips and sharp cheekbones that made him think she didn’t eat nearly enough to satisfy his worry she was taking care of herself.

It was her eyes that were most expressive, even when she didn’t utter a word. Gray and bottomless. Like they were holding the world together with a threadbare band aid.

He shook his head. He didn’t need to be thinking of her looks.

She was hot, and men noticed. He didn’t have to be one of them.

He wanted to help her, not mount her.

Rising to his feet, he reached for his leather jacket. Pocketing his keys next. He had somewhere else to be right now or he would have tackled the little Russian about more than a simple party.

Marianna would keep.

He knew for now she wasn’t going anywhere.

Hero complex or not, he needed to help her.

---