He forgot his feelings, forgot their conversation, forgot everything he had ever known except for three basic facts: Nina’s position beside him. The position of the three men up the street, the men standing and staring and shouting at Nina, drunk off each other’s presence in that way weak, dangerous men often were. And finally, James remembered everything he’d ever learned during decades of competitive kickboxing, lessons stamped into his bones through blood, sweat and tears.
As the men approached, a prowling pack of hyenas, he shoved Nina behind him and ordered tightly, “Do not move.”
“James—”
“Nina, listen to me. Do. Not. Move.”
He heard her shaky intake of breath, felt the press of her palm against his back. Knew that for once, she would listen. Reassured, he zeroed in on the approaching men again.
When they were a few metres away, he folded his arms and asked steadily, “Do we have a problem, gentlemen?”
The group, who had slowed down noticeably when Nina disappeared behind James, now came to a stop. The de facto leader, a scrawny white guy in a crumpled polo shirt and chinos, shot James a wary look. He shrugged, then looked back at his mates as if to remind himself of their presence, before stepping forward to reply. “No problem, pal,” he said. “Just thought we saw… someone.”
“Well,” James said evenly, “you didn’t. So turn around and piss off.”
Henchman number one, to the left of their fearless leader, hardened his rat-like jaw and adjusted the cap on his pin-head. “Alright, mate, calm down. Thing is, yeah, this is a free fucking country. No-one’s telling me what to do. Not you”—he spat on the ground—“or her.”
Fury racing through James’s blood, he surged forward. “This is the last time I repeat myself. Turn. The fuck. Around.” He looked at each man in turn, holding their gazes, letting them see.
See everything feral in him, just ready and waiting to come to the fore.
Maybe it was his size, the sight of his clenched fists, or something else—something vicious vibrating through his bones. Whatever the case, the leader caught his friend’s arm in an iron grip and muttered, “Come on, Harry. Ain’t worth the fucking mess.” They turned and left, their shadows receding around the corner until the street was empty but for passing cars again.
When James was certain they were gone, and his adrenaline had faded enough for him to do more than growl, he spun around and dragged Nina into his arms. She grabbed him right back, burrowing against his chest, grasping fistfuls of his jumper. Her hair tickled his jaw, her breaths coming quick against the hollow at the base of his throat. She smelled like coconut oil and sweat and unexpected, unnerving trust.
For a moment—just a second—James let himself forget that there were certain things he shouldn’t feel. Desperate affection flooded his senses until he was almost weak with it. He might be twice Nina’s size, but right now it felt like she was the one holding him up.
Protect her. You have to protect her.
Always.
Sometimes he felt as if he’d been made for it.
“I didn’t...” Her usually strident voice was tentative, fragile as spun sugar. “I didn’t expect—I knew people were saying things online, but I don’t think I really believed they’d…”
Recognise her? Approach her? Make it real?
Despite what she’d already been through, with the doxxing, the threats, the swarm of right-wing journalists who’d rushed to expose Nina’s views to their massive followings… James clearly hadn’t believed this would become real, either. Because the shock he felt right now was just too visceral.
But it all made a sick sort of sense. This political minefield had hooked its claws under the skin of so many citizens, and they were letting it drag them around like puppets. The widespread frenzy loosened tongues and inhibitions, bringing to light all the little violences people had once hidden. There was something sour at the root of this nation, a bitter evil that had been buried rather than exposed and healed. Some political issues excelled in dragging that bitterness to the fore.
Nina knew all this, so James didn’t piss her off by trying to explain it. He just held her tighter and whispered, “Shh. I’ve got you. It was bad luck. This is a small city. But this moment, all this attention, it will fade.” He swallowed. “And I’ll always be here. As long as you need me.”
He meant it. Which was yet another reason to resist her, to resist his own desire: James could never leave Nina again, regardless of whether or not this nightmare blew over. He understood that now. So, to stay by her side, he had to remain steady. Reliable. Permanent.
He couldn’t complicate matters between them. He couldn’t become temporary.
Maybe it wouldn’t need to be like that. Nina’s a smart woman. Explain to her, calmly and logically, that she’s yours, and if she agrees with your reasoning she might just let it happen.
James shook his head and decided he was still high on adrenaline. He turned his focus back to scouting their surroundings while stroking Nina’s hair.
Long moments passed before she stirred. After several deep breaths, she pushed back slightly, looking up at him. There was steel in her dark gaze, her jaw, her spine. She was defiant again, was determined again.
Just like that.
God, he loved this woman.
“I think you were right, before,” she said, her voice utterly steady.
James arched an eyebrow. “About what?”
“Help: I need more of it.” She took out her phone and made a call.
Chapter Seven
They went home, stuffed their faces with pizza, and watched old Syfy reruns where the bad guys got stabbed or thrown into the centre of the sun or brainwashed with green goo every time. James watched Nina closely, noticed her sending furtive texts and staring into space with what he called her thinking face firmly in place. He worried and hoped in equal measures.
Worried, because earlier tonight, Nina had been scared, and he hated the rare sight of Nina scared.
Hoped, because Nina was also brilliant. Her mind and her mean streak were both wicked-sharp—especially when provoked.
When bedtime rolled around, they slipped easily into a routine: cleaning the kitchen, sharing the bathroom, Nina humming as she brushed her teeth, James trying not to get attached to the domestic feel of it all.
He bid her goodnight, turned all the lights off, and checked his phone. There was an email from Markus. He left that alone.
Hey, man. You know how you asked me, last Christmas, if I was into your sister, and I laughed my arse off and asked you how the hell that would’ve happened? I lied. Sorry. Stay safe, by the way.
Yeah. They should probably have that conversation in person.
Sleep was fitful, when it came, but he’d expected that. He wasn’t surprised when thoughts of Nina—protecting her, holding her, having her—kept him awake and restless on the squashed-up little sofa.
And he wasn’t shocked to find his hand sliding down to his hard cock again in the very early hours of the morning.
But somehow when Nina appeared in the doorway like a dream, like a wish, like a fantasy he didn’t deserve to taste—that was what knocked him on his arse.
He stared at her for a moment in the near darkness, like she might disappear if he waited long enough. But maybe this made sense. She’d been scared. She’d needed him. And she needed him still.