Page 5 of Blade’s Protection

"Quiet night," I reported while Tiffany disappeared to start her shift. "But they're already tracking. Saw a sedan creeping past my building at dawn, unfamiliar plates, driver watching windows."

"They found her new location that fast?"

"These fuckers are motivated." I'd texted Phoenix about it, had him run the plates. Dead end—stolen tags. "Got my brothers taking shifts watching. We'll know if they come back."

Dr. Tad's expression darkened. "I've got a full patient load today. Can you⁠—"

"I'm not leaving."

The morning stretched into afternoon, and watching Tiffany work became its own form of torture. Every patient got her full attention, her genuine care. She held Mrs Little’s hand during a blood draw, chatting about the older woman's grandchildren. She made Conrad laugh despite his arthritis pain. She moved through the clinic with quiet competence, and every glimpse of her made my chest tight with want I had no business feeling.

When she bent to retrieve dropped supplies, her scrub pants stretched across the perfect curve of her ass, fabric straining in ways that made my jaw clench. When she reached for high shelves, her top rode up. She was all curves—generous breasts that stretched her scrub top, a waist that dipped in before flowing into hips made for gripping. Real woman, not gym-sculpted. The kind of soft that promised give under my hands, cushion against my hard edges and scars.

Too young. Too innocent. Too fucking good for someone like me.

But when she glanced my way between patients, color rising in her cheeks when our eyes met, my noble intentions crumbled a little more. She wanted me too. Wrong as it was, dangerous as it could be, the attraction ran both directions.

"Checking supplies," she announced around three, heading for the storage room.

I followed, maintaining distance but keeping her in sight. She knew I was there—her movements had taken on a self-conscious quality, awareness in every gesture. When she dropped a box of gauze and bent to retrieve it, I had to lock my jaw to keep from groaning.

"You don't have to watch me every second," she said without turning around.

"Yeah, I do."

"It must be boring."

Boring wasn't the word. Torture, maybe. Sweet hell. Watching her gentle hands that moved with such practiced care, hands that had no business touching someone who'd done the things I'd done. Yesterday she'd noticed my scars, and the concern in her expression had nearly broken my resolve.

"I've had worse assignments."

She turned then, leaning against the supply shelf. In the small room, we stood too close.

"Have you? Had a lot of assignments like this?"

"Never had one like this." Never had to protect someone who made me want to be the danger instead. Never had to watch someone I wanted to claim, mark, possess in ways that would scandalize this small town.

Her tongue swept across her bottom lip, and my control cracked. "You should get back to work."

"Probably." But she didn't move, just stood there looking up at me with those doe eyes that belonged on someone who didn't make my cock ache. "Blade⁠—"

"Don't." I stepped back, needing distance. "Just... don't."

Confusion flickered across her features before she nodded, slipping past me to return to the clinic floor. Her shoulder brushed my chest in passing, and that brief contact lit up every nerve ending.

The rest of her shift passed in professional silence, but the tension thickened with each hour. By the time seven o'clock arrived, we were both wound tight as piano wire.

Back at my apartment, she stood in my kitchen looking lost. "I could cook something? If you have... anything?"

I opened my fridge, displaying the bachelor's paradise within—protein shakes, beer, leftover takeout from Buck's that might have been from Tuesday. Or last Thursday.

She laughed, the sound filling my sparse apartment with warmth it had never contained. The movement made her breasts shift under her scrub top in ways I shouldn't notice but couldn't stop cataloging. "Okay, challenge accepted. You have eggs?"

"Maybe?"

She found eggs, somehow still good, and half a bag of shredded cheese that hadn't gone bad yet. Within minutes, she'd transformed my pathetic supplies into omelets that actually looked edible.

"You don't have to take care of me," I said as she set a plate in front of me.