Protecting Her Pride Page 9

  “What do you recommend we do, detective? Am I safe at home?” Daphni asks.

  “We can do extra patrols, and of course you can hire extra men for security. But if you want my opinion, I think you should go away for a while. It looks like the intruder left behind some clues, so we may have some DNA to test. In the meantime, get out of town, get away from all this and let us do our work.”

  Daphni nods thoughtfully, her silence confirming her fear. I reach out my hand to shake his. “Thank you.”

  “You call me now if you need anything,” he says before slipping out of the room.

  Keeping my hand on her thigh, I give her a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?”

  She turns to look at me, her eyes laced with concern. “I’m more worried about you.”

  I let out a curse and pull my hand away. She turns in the bed to face me. “Roman, what is wrong with you?”

  Falling back in the bed, I run my hand through my hair. “I’m just angry with myself right now.”

  “Why are you angry at yourself?” Daphni asks, her brow knitted in worry and confusion.

  “I practically invited that prick in. I was the one who installed the security system and came up with the genius idea to email out the passcode. I’m the one who was supposed to protect you and I let you down.”

  Daphni’s hand grabs mine. “Roman, you saved me,” she says, squeezing my hand in hers. “You told me to hide and then you went off to confront him. You did protect me.”

  I shake my head. “You were the one who saved me,” I argue.

  She drops my hand and stands up from the bed, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “So that’s what you’re pissed about, is it? Tell me: are you more angry that it was a woman who saved you, or that it was me?”

  I push myself up again in a sitting position, ignoring the shooting pain at my side. “Hold up,” I say, waving my hands in defense. “Don’t make me out to be some misogynistic pig. It’s not like that.”

  “Then what is it like?” she asks, her hands propped on her hips as she narrows her feisty eyes down at me.

  “Seriously, Daphni? I couldn’t protect you! God, if anything had happened to you, I couldn’t recover from that. Damnit, don’t you see that?”

  The words leave my mouth before I have a chance to call them back. I’m exposed: she knows now the power she holds over me. Because it’s true, if anything ever happened to her, it would destroy me.

  Daphni’s face softens and her blazing eyes pierce mine. As our eyes lock, the thousand things we wish we could say seem to pass between us. After a long moment, she nods and sits down again on the bed, closer to me. She places her small hand on my chest. “Nothing happened. I’m okay. We’re okay,” she whispers as she keeps her gaze leveled on mine.

  “We’re okay,” I echo, nodding as I repeat the words silently in my head. I need to move on. I can’t keep lingering on what could have happened, I need to focus on the present and on protecting Daphni.

  “Come on, let’s go home. The nurse said you’re good to go.”

  “No, we can’t go back,” I say as I swing my legs over the bed.

  “Well, where should we go?”

  “Maybe a hotel for the night.”

  Daphni shakes her head. “No, I can’t do that. I’ll get swarmed. We need to go somewhere no one will know us.” She bites down on her lip as she thinks. “I have a house in Malibu. It’s under an alias. No one knows about it. We can go there.”

  I nod in agreement and after getting the all-clear from the nurse, we call a cab to bring us back to the house and pack our things. As we walk out of the room, I let Daphni loop her arms around my waist. I don’t have it in me to tell her I’m okay, that I don’t need her to help me walk. Because as pathetic as it sounds, the feel of her on me is just too tempting. It will take a lifetime for me to forget the fear I had felt when I felt the knife slice my skin and I realized I may not be able to protect her. So, if all I can have with her is this moment, her arms wrapped around me, I’ll take it. I’ll take anything she gives me.

  16

  Daphni

  “Okay, we’re almost there,” I say as I reach out of my window and enter my gate code, looking over my shoulder to make sure Roman doesn’t see my code is “1234.” Even though he’s injured and on a pleasant dose of pain meds, I know he always has enough energy to throw in a lecture about security and all that nonsense.

  I drive up the long, winding driveway and slow when I start to see the lines of cars parked on the grass outside my house. Over a dozen cars are scattered on the lot, and as I inch my car closer through the narrow driveway, I can start to see a crowd of people spilling out my front door.

  “What the hell?” I mutter as I pull my car to the side of my drive.

  “You having a party?” Roman asks me as he looks out the window.

  “Most definitely not,” I say as I slam my car into park.

  “We should call the police.”

  As I look around, I instantly recognize the yellow Lamborghini with bright red stripes parked prominently in front of the front door and I shake my head. “No need,” I say. “This is all Drizzle.”

  A rush of annoyance fuels me as I jump out of the car, slam the door, and march my way toward the house. I feel adrenaline pumping through my body as I try to just imagine the bullshit excuse Drizzle has created to break in to my house and throw a party.

  “Daphni, wait!” Roman calls out.

  I stop and turn to find him trailing behind me. “Roman, you should stay in the car and rest. I can handle this on my own.”

  Roman vehemently shakes his head. “No way am I letting you out my sight again.” He winces as he grips his side. “Maybe you could just not run?”

  I cringe and nod. “Sorry.”

  Together we walk toward the house, where loud music pours onto the front lawn. A small crowd is sitting outside, passing around a joint, oblivious to the fact that they are blatantly trespassing on my property.

  I fling open the door to my house to find another thirty people loitering about and lounging on my furniture—my very expensive, imported-from-Turkey furniture, mind you. I storm through the rooms, mindful not to rush too much, for Roman’s sake. As I look through each room, I feel my skin itch with anticipation. Where the hell is my idiot boyfriend?

  Not finding him anywhere downstairs, I climb the stairs to the second floor. All the doors are propped open except for one: my bedroom.

  As I step closer, I feel my stomach sink. Once outside my door, I pause when I feel Roman’s hand grab my arm.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, his face full of concern. “We could just go now. Call the cops, go somewhere else.”

  I shake my head and lift my hand to the door handle, then thrust open the door. I feel my stomach drop as I take in the scene before me. Bottles are scattered all over the floor, along with piles of clothes. My beautiful, custom, imported red silk sheets have been thrown to the ground and lay in a rumpled mess. And on my bed is Drizzle, flanked by two bleached blondes: one riding him, gyrating on top of him and moaning like a beached manatee, while the other blonde sits on his face.

  “Are you fucking serious?” I scream as I slam the bedroom door behind me.

  The two girls squeal as they see me and, to their credit, quickly jump away from the bed and scuttle into the corner, using the curtains to shield their naked bodies. Drizzle looks up, a look of shock mixed with disappointment on his face.

  “Daphni, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, his words slurring together. One look at his pasty skin and bloodshot eyes tells me everything I need to know.

  “What am I doing here? This is my house, asshole. The question is what the hell are you doing here?”

  He pushes himself off the bed and saunters toward me. He doesn’t make any effort to cover himself, his still-hard erection flopping shamelessly as he stalks toward me.

  “Why don’t you join us, Daphni?” he asks with a lazy smile on his face.


  At my side, Roman tenses and steps toward me as Drizzle approaches. I lift my hand to keep him back, a move that doesn’t go unnoticed by Drizzle. He smiles at Roman, his bleary eyes assessing him. We probably don’t look like the most formidable match: me, still in the clothes I fell asleep in, and Roman in flannel pants and a plain white T-shirt from the hospital’s gift shop.

  “You’re disgusting,” I spit out.

  How had I let myself settle for someone so terrible and repulsive? How much did I hate myself to believe that this was someone I deserved? Turning to the two girls, I point at the piles of clothes on the ground. “Ladies, I would suggest you get dressed and tell your friends downstairs that they have ten minutes to leave before I call the cops.”

  The two poor girls nod quickly, grab their clothes, and rush out of the room. Staring down at Drizzle, I shake my head in disgust. “In case you can’t figure it out, we’re done.”

  Drizzle laughs as he picks up his clothes from the ground. “Whatever. You’re a frigid bitch, Daphni. It’s no wonder I have to find other amusements. Fucking you is like fucking a corpse. You just lay there like a doll, shaking like you’re having a fucking seizure. It’s weird as fuck, Daphni.”

  I feel my body heat with rage and before I can stop myself, I take two steps toward him and let my fist fly straight into his nose. He yelps as my fist connects with his face. I feel a sense of satisfaction as I see the blood shoot out of his nose, and I make a mental note to buy Liam, who spent hours teaching me how to box, a really fucking good gift for Christmas this year.

  “You cunt!” he shouts, as he flails his arms to try and hit me.

  I kick him in the balls and he doubles over in pain, still clutching his nose. I sink my right elbow into the back of his neck, sending him to the floor. I throw another kick into his gut for good measure, sending him to the ground. I know the last kick was a bit of overkill, but seeing him on the floor, clutching his balls, is a beautiful mental picture that I want to file away for myself. I hate how I let myself settle for someone like him and as I look down at him, pathetically writhing on the floor, I decide that I’m done settling for over-entitled assholes who treat me like shit.

  Before I lose complete control, I spin on my heel to leave. I land in Roman’s arms and he grabs my shoulders to steady me. Cupping my face in his hands, he looks into my eyes. “You’re good,” he says. His voice is strong, reassuring.

  I nod. “I’m good,” I repeat as I take a series of deep breaths.

  Slipping his hand in mine, he leads me back down the stairs, not stopping until we’re back in my car. Silently, I pull out of the driveway and head back down toward the road. I let Roman report the party to the police, and I make a mental note to tell Melissa to sell the goddamn place- imported furniture and all.

  After a few minutes of driving aimlessly, I look down and realize my knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. I flex my fingers as I pull the car over into a dark parking lot. I drop my head and let it fall down on the steering wheel. I feel Roman’s hand on my thigh, and I turn my head to look over at him.

  “Did I seriously punch him?”

  Roman nods, a somber expression on his face. His eyes, illuminated by the lone light pole in the parking lot, reveal his concern.

  “And then I kicked him, right?”

  Roman nods again, his upper lip quirking a bit.

  “And then I elbowed him?”

  A third time, Roman nods, now unable to restrain his smile.

  I make a grimace before bursting into laughter, my body shaking as I laugh. “I know I shouldn’t laugh. Especially since I just committed assault and whatnot. But, holy shit, that felt good!”

  Roman laughs and shakes his head. “Should I be worried about you?”

  I lift my brow and wink. “Maybe.” Letting out a long sigh, I look up at the dark road. “So, where do we go from here?”

  “I think we have somewhere we can go,” he says. “But let’s get some breakfast first. I’m starving.”

  17

  Roman

  I groan as I rub my belly and push back the seat, stretching out my legs. I catch Daphni rolling her eyes as she watches me.

  “You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe you ate all that and you still look the way you do.”

  “Look the way I do?”

  “Yeah, you know.” When I don’t immediately respond, she rolls her eyes again. “Oh, really? You’re going to make me say it, you egomaniac? You know, all ripped and shredded,” she says, in a mocking tone.

  I flex my arms and look at them admiringly. “Did you guys hear? She thinks I’m ripped.”

  Daphni sticks out her tongue before quickly turning her focus back to the road. Her back is pin straight, and her seat is pushed all the way to the wheel.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” I ask for the fifth time.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Besides you’re still hyped out on your pain meds.” Suddenly, she lets out a loud gasp and swivels her head, turning to look over her right shoulder.

  I grab the handle and turn to look out the window. “What’s wrong?”

  “A LuLa Boutique!” she exclaims as she veers off onto the exit.

  “A what?”

  “LuLa Boutique,” she repeats, turning to face me. When she sees my blank face, she dramatically widens her eyes. “It’s a consignment shop. You can find the most random things for next to nothing. And if we’re going to be holed up incognito, I’m going to need a new wardrobe.”

  “Right. Definitely the top priority.”

  Ignoring me, she pulls into the parking lot, shifts the car to park, and turns to look at me. “Me and Gabby used to spend hours here, trying on dozens of outfits. It’s a goldmine, and I never get the chance to go. I’ll be quick: run in, grab a few things. Thirty minutes max. Promise!” Her green eyes sparkle with excitement and when she sees that I don’t plan on immediately caving, she pouts her pink lips.

  And as much as I try to resist and insist that we keep driving, I have to admit that even I’m not immune to Daphni when she turns on her pout and puppy-dog eyes. “Thirty minutes. That’s it.”

  Clapping her hands, Daphni squeals with excitement and jumps out of the car. I follow behind her, trying to keep up. The store is massive, and thankfully pretty empty in the early morning. As we step inside, Daphni wraps her hand around my arm and pulls me toward the men’s section.

  “You first,” she declares as she picks up a mesh basket and immediately starts to sift through the endless racks of shirts. Without a second thought, she throws shirt after shirt into the basket before moving on to the pants. Spinning on her heel, she cups her chin with her hand and sweeps her gaze up and down my body. “Thirty-three by thirty-four?” she asks as she holds up a pair of dark denim.

  “Eh, yeah. Wait, how did—”

  Daphni rolls her eyes. “Relax. Don’t you remember that I used to dress you all the time? You’ve put on a few inches, but hey, you’re getting older,” she adds with a wink.

  “It’s all muscle,” I mutter as I continue to follow her like a lost puppy as she weaves in and out of the long, cluttered aisles of clothes.

  As we make our way to the women’s section, Daphni shoves the basket into my hands and picks up another empty one. “Okay, now the fun part.”

  Within ten minutes, her own basket is filled to the brim with an assortment of bright fabrics, miniskirts, and sparkling dresses. As she adds yet another diamond-encrusted corset to her overflowing collection, I stop her.

  “Daphni,” I say, taking the sparkly corset from her hands, “Is this really your idea of going incognito?”

  Her face falls as she looks longingly at the bedazzled fabric. She shakes her head. “I guess not.”

  “Right.” I pick up a new basket and walk her back down the aisle. “Why don’t you let me handle this?”

  She arches her brow as she watches me. “You want to pick out my clothes?”

  I
shrug. “How hard can it be? You just need to look normal.” I pick up a pair of denim shorts. “This. This is normal.”

  Her eyes pop open. “Jorts? You’re going to make me wear jorts?”

  “Jorts?”

  “Jean shorts!” she responds, as if I should know.

  “Then yes, I am going to make you wear jorts. Us normal people wear jean shorts. And T-shirts,” I add as I toss some shirts into the basket. Soon her basket is as full as mine, and I drag her away from her abandoned selections, over to the cash register.

  Before we reach the register, I take a quick detour to the accessories. I grab a wide-brimmed sun hat and pop it on Daphni’s head. The hat looks ridiculous on her, but it also hides most of her face, which, as one of the most recognizable celebrities on this planet, she will need. I can’t help myself when I lift one hand to tuck a stray pink curl behind her ear. I hear her quiet sigh when I let my hand linger by her cheek, barely touching her, but needing to feel her skin beneath mine. In that moment, I feel everything surrounding us freeze in place. All I can feel, see, think about is Daphni. I have no idea how she is able to do this: hijack my world in these small, stolen moments. But it doesn’t anger me, it just confirms that Daphni Monroe has a grip on me that no other woman has ever seemed to match. And it’s this simple fact that reminds me, when it comes to Daphni, there is a part of me inextricably linked to her.

  I force my hand away, breaking our connection. Reaching for a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses, I rip off the price tag and slide them over her eyes. She follows me in silence as we walk up to the register to check out. With our clothes bagged, we head back to the door and Daphni skips ahead, a smile overtaking her face.

  “Did you see? She didn’t recognize me!”

  A smile pulls at my lips, her excitement contagious. Even though we were together at the beginning of her climb to fame, there were still many times a date night or attempted rendezvous had been thwarted by overzealous paparazzi or excitable fans. Since she was a kid, Daphni lived her life in the limelight. I hated seeing how the pressure of always being perfect had started to weigh on her. But moments like these- when she can be free and not worry about photographers lurking in her bushes- were the rare gifts that allowed the real, genuine Daphni to shine. The Daphni who wasn’t burdened with concerns about wearing the right clothes, having her makeup and hair look perfect. The Daphni that I had first met, and had first fallen in love with.