Page 14 of Freedom's Kiss
The smell of creamy cheese and wilted greens tickled his senses as he lifted the paper plate closer to his face. “I don’t know. I hadn’t decided if the challenge was worth being sued over.” Or if whatever he’d say or do would be going too far. It took all his self-restraint to reel himself in from his expressive behavior and speech, often failing, especially with her. Winning a match of wits wouldn’t have been worth the loss of friendship. Not to mention self-respect.
Her nose scrunched. “Sued?”
He pinned her with a look, and she nodded. “Yeah, okay, I see what you mean. But for the record, I know you’re a good guy. Your motives aren’t those that would land you in jail.”
He took a bite of his crepe as the worry tightening his muscles began to uncurl. “And how do you know that? We met yesterday.”
She stopped, and it took him two steps before he realized it. Turning, he found himself under scrutiny.
“That may be true, and I hope this doesn’t come across as crazy, but I feel like we’ve known each other longer. Our whole lives even.”
No, he couldn’t call that crazy. He’d thought the same thing. Weird how quickly he’d felt comfortable in her presence. And maybe that was why he’d felt himself relaxing, his constant vigilance over his words and effusiveness slipping when he was around her.
Movement in his peripheral vision snagged his attention, and he let his gaze be pulled in that direction. Lean frame. Lanky like only years of hard drugs could do to a body. Buzz cut. A tattoo on the side of the guy’s neck.
Adam’s blood froze as his stomach clenched. No, it couldn’t. Not here. He reached for his cell phone with his free hand to call the police but stopped with his palm hovering over his pocket. The police couldn’t do anything. Not now. And whose fault was that? No one’s but his.
Olivia shifted in the middle of the walkway, tugging his focus back to her. His heart rate escalated as his vision spotted. She was too close. Any minute now she could be—
He had to do something. Shield her. Protect her. Things he should have done for another girl. And hadn’t. A quick glance back to his nightmare let him know Olivia wasn’t in the guy’s sight. Yet. There was still time.
His half-eaten crepe fell to the ground. In one long stride, he was in front of her, gripping her shoulders and propelling her backward. He didn’t stop until her spine pressed against the side of a building. Using his body, he shielded her, a palm to the rough brick on either side of her head. He brought his face down to the side of hers, blocking the view of anyone passing by.
Her warm breath fanned against his cheek, and his muscles constricted even more. He was aware of her. Of how close she was to him and how his manhandling must’ve been perceived. What must she think of him? He didn’t care. There were more important things than his reputation. A lesson he’d learned too late.
Turning his head, he watched the sallow man advance toward them. With each step, Adam’s body grew tighter, the space between him and Olivia shrinking so that he could feel her tense muscles and shallow breath. His vision spotted again, and he blinked to clear it, eyes zeroed in on the tattoo. A rose. Air whooshed out of his chest. A rose, not a diamond.
His head hung, his forehead almost brushing the exposed skin on Olivia’s tank top–clad shoulder. He gulped in air and waited for his heart to return to its normal rhythm.
“I see your brother isn’t the only one in the family to get the protective gene.” Olivia’s whispered breath smelled of peanut butter and chocolate as it danced across his cheek and played with the ends of his hair curling behind his ear.
Adam lifted his head, putting them nose to nose. Caught in the beam of her gaze, she searched his eyes. He swallowed and pushed off the wall, straightening. But he didn’t step back. Couldn’t, since Olivia gripped the sides of his shirt in her fists at his waist.
He swallowed, trying to push down the rising embarrassment. Tearing his gaze from hers, he followed the wake of the man who’d reminded him of someone he’d tried so hard to forget. Adrenaline leaked from his veins, and his thoughts returned to a cohesive order.
“My brother?”
Slowly her fingers uncurled from the cotton of his shirt. “The one that was in the navy.”
“Michael.” The crowd swallowed the tattooed guy, allowing Adam to concentrate on what Olivia was saying. “What about him?”
She leaned against the brick building like she hadn’t a care in the world. Like she hadn’t been roughly pushed there against her will by a man haunted. Tilting her head, she regarded him with too much insight. “I’m just saying he isn’t the only one good at playing knight.” Her lips tilted in a soft smile. “So from whom did you save me, noble Galahad?”
Noble? He didn’t deserve that distinction. Although he was glad he didn’t have to explain or defend his actions, that she understood the motivation behind his harsh and abrupt treatment, this was a topic he preferred never to discuss. “Nothing. It was…nothing.”
She watched him for moments that stretched to eternity, and though he tried to hold the black clouds of guilt and self-loathing at bay, he felt them rolling in like a thunderstorm. The faster they finished their shopping, the sooner they could get out of there. He’d come up with some excuse to put off the taste testing.
Forcing his lips to bow, he held out his elbow. “If a knight I be, then allow me to escort yon fair maiden around the marketplace to collect her vittles.” He sounded ridiculous, but he’d do or say anything to get her to stop scrutinizing him like that.
She hooked her arm through his, and they turned to stroll among the popped-up canopies once again. When they reached a vender selling fish, Olivia stopped and inspected the product. Adam took the opportunity to hang back. With a deep breath and a shake of his wrists, he tried to fling off the melancholy pressing against him, but guilt flayed his thoughts.
No matter what he did or how hard he tried, he couldn’t scrub his soul clean. Couldn’t forgive himself the unforgivable role he’d played. Couldn’t get the memory of Brittany Foresythe’s anguished face from his mind.
Dear God, she’d only been sixteen—three years younger than his own sister. Brittany hadn’t deserved any of the horrors done to her. She should be looking forward to prom-dress shopping, hanging out with friends at the Friday night football games, and giggling over the quarterback, not reliving a nightmare. One she’d had to recount in front of an audience. One where he’d defended the monster. He pressed his palms against his temples and squeezed, the memory of Brittany’s tear-filled, terror-filled eyes ripping his insides to shreds.
It was his fault. No one’s but his. If he’d done the right thing, the just thing, there’d be no reason to fear for women when skinny guys with tattoos on their necks came around. But instead of justice—what the legal system should uphold—he’d done his job, and he’d done it well. The price? A rapist set free.
