Page 8 of Kidnapped By the Mafia Boss
“What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit as I undo her seatbelt and gather her into my arms. I should have dragged Jenna out of that restaurant the moment I saw her sit down. “I found her passed out.”
Thankfully, the Rotherhithe men who are here part as I stride into the house and upstairs to my bedroom and lay Jenna on the bed.
The next hour is worse than the time Camden pulled out four of my fingernails to try to get me to give up my father,the then kingpin of Rotherhithe. Matvey takes blood and runs tests. Warily, he listens to Jenna’s pulse, and I watch him, fists clenched. He wears plastic gloves and is incredibly careful not to touch her directly, instead asking me to move her arms or tilt her head. And this is why my men are well paid. Because they know how to read a dangerous situation and act accordingly.
Even when the danger comes from their boss.
He confirms my suspicion that Jenna was drugged.
“She might be disoriented when she wakes. But she’ll be fine,” he says, removing his gloves and packing up some of the medical equipment. “There’s a minor risk of…” Matvey lists a dozen conditions, but I can’t get past the surging relief that she’s going to be okay. “I can arrange for a female staff?—”
“No.” No one cares for her but me, and I’ll be the one here when she wakes.
Whether she’ll welcome me is another question…
It’s a very long night. When Matvey retires to get some sleep—on call in case there’s any change—my London Rotherhithe residence housekeeper knocks tentatively and delivers what I requested: my dog and new clothes for Jenna.
I try to work while I keep watch over Jenna, but mostly my gaze remains on her face.
Karik, my black-and-white Border collie puppy, keeps me company, curled into a ball at my feet at first. Then he wakes at about five in the morning, while it’s still dark, and pads around the room. Cautiously, he glances at me before leaping onto the bed where Jenna is asleep.
“Karik…” I warn in a deep, low tone. But he sniffs her like she’s a delicious treat, then snuggles into Jenna’s thigh and breathes a sigh of contentment.
And just like that, I’m jealous of my dog. He was a stray mutt not so long ago, and now he’s the pet of a billionaire and in the most perfect spot in the world: right next to Jenna’s pussy.
It’s some hours later that Karik wakes again, stretches, and ambles up the bed to Jenna’s face and begins—with lack of embarrassment—to lick Jenna’s ear.
“Karik,” I hiss. “Stop.” Because although I really sympathise and would happily lick any or every part of Jenna, we can’t be unsolicitedly licking people, however delicious they are.
Karik looks up, tail wagging, and unlike every other person in my life, totally ignores me. He returns to licking Jenna.
“Enough,” I growl. “Sit!”
Finally, some of the training gets through to my puppy, and he plunks himself obediently back on his haunches, ears perked, front paws right by her face.
I sigh, annoyed, but not wanting to wake Jenna with more curt commands to my partially-trained beast, as she stirs.
Still in her dress from last night, but tucked under the covers and her shoes off, Jenna shifts, and her green eyes open, no doubt seeing a wall of fur.
I’m on my feet and at her bedside before I’ve really thought it through.
“Oh, hey boy,” she says softly. Karik—little tart—wags his tail and noses her. She wiggles an arm out and offers her hand for him to sniff. “How did you get…” Her forehead creases.
“How are you feeling?” I say quietly.
Her head snaps up, and panic streaks across her face. She scrambles to cover herself, though nothing is on show, and backs onto the headboard like she’s a chameleon and could hide herself away.
Confused by her movement, Karik jumps off the bed and comes to sit by my side. My loyal hound now he’s concerned.
“Where am I?” she croaks, eyes wide, and… Scared.
Jenna is terrified. Of me.
Yebat.
. . .
