Protect Me (26 page)

Nate continues to watch me over his fork as he eats his dinner. His steak is medium and juicy. Mine is more medium-well since I don’t like to look down and see blood on my plate. Nate chose the honey-glazed shrimp while I chose battered and fried. Without even saying a word, we both exchange a few of the shrimp on each other’s plates. We just click like that.
 

“So, do you have your dress ready for Saturday?” Nate asks, steering conversation back towards a safer topic. The gala.
 

“Yeah, your mom helped me steam it so it’s ready to go. I’m lucky that Holly is so close to my size. Otherwise, I’m not sure what I would have worn,” I reply as I take a bite of Nate’s shrimp.
 

“You could wear a burlap sack and still be the most beautiful woman at the party,” he tells me with bright, sparkling eyes. I prefer this look on Nate. He looks happier now, the previous conversation pushed out of his mind.
 

“Well, I don’t know about that. I do know that I will have an actual gown for this gala. I think it’s the gown that Holly wore last month to some award show in Los Angeles with Jase.”
 

“The red one?” Nate asks with that cocky smile.
 

“Yes,” I say with a surprised look. “How do you know?”
 

“Avery was showing all sorts of pictures of them the following week. If memory serves correctly, that
dress is low cut and strapless, and it has a slit. A very, very high slit up the side,” Nate says in a husky whisper, leaning forward over the table. The look in his eyes is now predatory. Primal.
 

I lean forward, mimicking his movement. “It does.”
 

“I just got hard,” he deadpans.
 

I laugh loudly and shake my head at him. “Well, I guess you’ll have something to think about for the next three days,” I reply and sit back up straight.
 

“Oh, I’m already stripping that dress off of you and bending you over this table, in my mind,” he says without missing a beat and digs back into his steak.
 

The rest of the meal is pleasant and the conversation flows enjoyably as we keep the topics away from our pasts. Nate pays the check and places his big, warm hand on my lower back as he steers me toward the door. The hostess is standing nearby, smiling at Nate. Nate pays no attention to her as he pulls me closer to his side and runs his big hand down my ass. We pass the stand without even a second glance her way. She huffs a big breath as we walk by, Nate’s hand clearly marking his territory.
 

Point for me.
 

It doesn’t take us too long to get to the other side of St. Charles and find the mall. We head inside and walk straight toward the men’s store. The windows are filled with mannequins wearing stylish suits and
handsome tuxedos. The man at the counter greets us pleasantly with a smile.
 

“Can I help you?” he says with a slight accent. I’m horrible at them, but I think it’s Australian. Or British? Hell, I have no clue. He could be from Canada for all I know.
 

“Nate Stevens. I have a tux to pick up.”
 

“Ah, yes. I received a phone call a bit ago from a gentleman named Will. He said you’re supposed to pick his up as well,” the man says before heading into the back of the store.
 

“Of course. Leave it to Will to leave himself no time get his tux. I’ll probably have to pay for it, too,” Nate says as he shakes his head.
 

“You’re a great brother,” I tell Nate as I wrap my arms around his waist.
 

“I’d rather be known as great in bed,” he says with that cocky smile.
 

“Well, you’re not bad,” I tease.
 

“Not bad, huh?” Nate asks with mock hurt on his face. “I bet you by the end of the night, you will be singing a different tune. I bet I can give you no less than three orgasms,” he says huskily. The dirty gleam in his eyes shining brightly.
 

“Three? Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?” I tease.
 

“Three is nothing. I bet you have your first before we even leave St. Charles,” he whispers as the
salesman comes back to the front carrying two garment bags.
 

“This one is yours, sir. The changing room is right through that curtain. Have your brother try his on as soon as possible so that we can get it fixed if something doesn’t fit right.”
 

“Done,” Nate says as he walks towards the changing room.
 

I stand on the outside of the curtain, patiently waiting for Nate to try it on. The salesman remains up at the front of the store, arranging dress shirts and ties in a meticulous way that boarders on a little OCD.
 

“Lia, can you help me with this?” Nate asks from behind the curtain.
 

“Sure,” I reply as I slip behind the curtain.
 

Nate is standing there, fully dressed. “What do you need help with?” I ask, not seeing what’s wrong with the tux. In fact it looks perfect. Ravishing.
 

“This,” he says as he tugs me against his body.
 

His lips are pressed firmly to mine, licking the seam of my lips. I can’t control the moan that erupts from my mouth, Nate absorbs it with his own. Nate spins me around and gently presses me forward slightly.
 

“Put your hands on the wall,” he commands quietly, his voice filled with need.
 

I do as instructed, leaning forward just a little. Nate places his hands on the back of my thighs and slowly slides them upward towards my ass. His big,
strong hands kneed the globes of my bare ass before making their way to my wet front.
 

“Nice choice of underwear,” Nate says, referring to my lace trimmed thong. “We’re going to make this quick and you definitely need to be as quiet as possible.”
 

Nate wraps his big body around my back, running one hand over my throbbing core. He slides the panties to the side and begins his assault. His fingers are firm and as he concentrates on the place I need him the most.
 

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers against my ear. His tongue running up and down the column of my neck as he places open-mouthed kisses in the path.
 

One finger slips inside of me, quickly followed by a second. My legs quiver and shake. Nate’s strong arms pull me tightly against him; his shorts-covered erection pressed firmly against my bare behind. My dress is up around my hips as his fingers continue their quest for pleasure. I grind back against him as he pushes me towards the orgasm I know is within reach.
 

“Fuck, I love the little noises you make while I do this. I love the way you feel pressed against my body. I fucking love the way you feel on the inside,” Nate all but growls in my ear. “Come for me, baby,” he adds as he flicks his thumb over my pulsing nub.
 

I come. Hard. I come so hard I have to bite down on my lip to keep from screaming out in ecstasy. I
wither against Nate’s body as I slowly float back down to earth. My legs weaken as he slowly runs his fingers inside of me one last time. He slowly pulls his fingers out and rubs around on the outside without letting go of me.
 

“Sir, do you need any assistance?” the salesman asks from outside the curtain.
 

I tense against Nate’s body as Nate replies, “No, I think I’ve managed just fine.”
 

I look up and realize I’m staring directly at Nate and myself. I didn’t even notice the mirror when I came in here. I was so focused on how amazing Nate looked in his tux that I didn’t even realize I was being fingered against a mirror.
 

I make quick work at righting my thong and dress. My face is flush and my breathing is labored. The look on Nate’s face is fierce. Primal.
 

“Watching you come in that mirror was the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers before placing a hard kiss against my lips.
 

He pulls back, adjusting his hard-on in his tux pants, and gives me that famous smile. “I might have to install mirrors above my bed,” he says. “You better go back out before you get us in trouble,” he adds with a slap on my ass.
 

I yelp and give him a shocked look as I open the curtain and step outside. The salesman is standing there with an unpleasant, knowing look on his face.
 

Busted.
 

“He’ll be out in just a minute,” I mumble and walk towards the front of the store.
 

A few minutes later, Nate steps out wearing his street clothes, tuxedo stuffed back inside the garment bag, and wearing the world’s biggest grin on his face.
 

“I take it everything worked out for you, sir,” I overhear the salesman say to Nate.
 

“Everything was perfect,” Nate replies.
 

After Nate takes care of paying for the tuxedos at the counter, we head back out to the Mustang.
 

“Where to?” he asks as he holds open the door for me.
 

“How about the creek?” I reply, sliding into the hot, sticky car.
 

“A woman after my own heart,” he agrees with a smile.
 

Nate walks around the front of the car - yes, I’m checking out his ass as he goes - and slides into the Mustang. He fires up the horses and pulls out of the parking spot. We’re heading down the road, back towards Rivers Edge, before I know it. Our fingers are linked as we chat the entire way. I’ve never felt comfortable with casual talking. When I was with Garrett, I was afraid to talk. His friends and colleagues always accused me of being snobby. The truth was I was afraid of what might happen if I said the wrong thing so I played the shy card and plastered on a fake smile.
Smiled big for the crowd and the cameras. Hid the pain.
 

Before I know it, we’re pulling into the lane. Nate makes quick work of opening the gate, and we’re heading up the long lane a few minutes later. I stand by idly as Nate unlocks the small shack and pulls out one chair. Placing it next to the water’s edge, he sits and slaps his leg in invitation.
 

I happily sit on Nate’s lap, throwing both legs over his. My arms are around his neck as I snuggle close. Nate wraps both arms protectively around me. He’s my solace.
 

After several quiet minutes, Nate finally says, “Can I ask you something?”
 

“Yes,” I reply.
 

He clears his throat a little before he continues. “When you left the hospital in Daytona that night, where did you go?”
 

I tense a little, not expecting Nate’s question to be about my past. I never openly talk about this part of my life, and especially not as much as I have in recent weeks. However, with Nate’s arms still firmly around me, I feel safe enough to tell him the rest of my story.
 

“When I left the hospital, I had on a designer evening gown and no shoes. My ribs were either cracked or broken, but I didn’t care. The pain was excruciating, but the thought of freedom was greater than the pain.
 

“I walked down one of the main arteries of Daytona, heading towards the beach. My purse had
about twenty dollars in it and a tube of lipstick. I had saved about twelve hundred bucks over the last year or so but it was safely hidden at the house. And there was no way I could return there to collect the money or even a pair of shoes.
 

“Eventually, I stumbled upon a woman’s shelter. I knocked on the heavy wooden door once and it opened instantly. I was pulled inside by this older, petite woman. She didn’t say a word as she held my arm and moved us towards a small room with a desk and a small bed. She sat me down on the bed, retrieved clean bedding and some oversized clean clothes. That was it. No questions. She just helped me.
 

“I had the worst night of sleep of my life that night. I was in pain and was having nightmares, but every time I woke up, the woman was right there next to my bed. I learned the next day that her name was Connie. She helped me shower because there was no way I could bend or move. She rewrapped my abdomen and helped me dress. She also brought me food and water. She was my saving grace when I had nothing.”
 

 “How long were you there?” Nate croaks through what sounds like a dry throat.
 

“About three weeks. Just long enough to get most of my strength back. Connie was one of the volunteers at the shelter, but we became very close while I was there. She helped me clean that gown and then took it, along with all of the jewelry I was wearing that
night, to a pawn shop on the other side of Daytona. I used that money to purchase the bare necessities of clothes and a piece of crap car. She also helped me change my name,” I confess.
 

“Your name?” Nate asks. Our eyes connect for the first time since I started telling him about Daytona.
 

“Yeah, my name. I was born Amelia Justine Bryant,” I confide.
 

“Shit. You changed it so that the bastard couldn’t find you, didn’t you?” he asks, though it’s not really a question.
 

“Yes. Connie helped me. Walker was my grandmother’s maiden name. She died before I was born, but it was the only other family name I could think of.  And of course, Lia is short for Amelia,” I whisper, dropping my eyes again.
 

“I like Lia better,” Nate says.
 

“I can’t stand to hear Amelia,” I say. Too many bad memories attached to that name. Hearing it makes my skin crawl.
 

Nate pulls me tightly against his warm chest, our faces press together cheek to cheek. I breathe in the same warm air that Nate does.