Читать книгу Claiming His Princess: Duty at What Cost? / A Throne for the Taking / Princess in the Iron Mask - Kate Walker - Страница 15

SHE SCREAMED AND then lost her breath as she felt as if a giant boulder had fallen on top of her.

‘Secure…the…area.’

Wolfe’s deep voice, laden with pain, instructed the men running towards them. Ava coughed as she tried to breathe the filthy air around them, but her lungs were constricted. Feeling winded, she tried to twist onto her back and realised that it was Wolfe who was smothering her with his body.

When he shifted she dragged in a bucketload of acrid-smelling air. ‘What…?’

‘Ava. Don’t move.’ Deft hands ran over her body with mechanical efficiency, and when he was satisfied she wasn’t seriously injured he hovered over her, his movements somehow lacking their usual fluid grace.

Hearing a ringing sound in her ears, she peered around to see that the front of her building was completely blown apart. The fire door she had installed as a precaution lay crumpled as if a giant fist had tried to punch holes in it.

Bewildered by the chaos and devastation around her, and only peripherally aware that Wolfe’s men surrounded them, Ava glanced at Wolfe. ‘Mon Dieu, you are hurt.’

Ignoring The pain in her hands and hip where she had hit the pavement, she reached out to the jagged tear down the sleeve of his jacket. The white shirt beneath was already turning crimson under the glow of the street lamp that remained intact like a silent sentinel above them.

‘Get her…into the car,’ Wolfe rasped, shrugging out of his torn jacket.

‘No.’ Ava tried to reach for him, her only thought to help him, but he slashed his hand in the air.

‘Now.’

His voice brooked no argument and before she could do anything his men had gripped her arms and steered her back towards the limousine. She could hear Wolfe ruthlessly issuing orders and the distant wail of a police siren. Concerned voices filtered through the dust and smoke and then faded away as Wolfe’s men held back any curious onlookers drawn by the explosion.

Within minutes of the police arriving Wolfe was beside her in the car, wearing a black leather jacket; nothing about his appearance suggested that he’d just thrown himself on top of her as a bomb had blasted glass, bricks and plaster all over him.

He seemed calm and eerily controlled.

By contrast Ava couldn’t stop trembling. She was to blame for what had happened. Wolfe had told her not to change her itinerary and she hadn’t listened. She had wanted—what? The comfort of the familiar? To get back at Wolfe for leaving her? To make him come after her?

She let out a shaky breath. Right now all she knew was that she had put those assigned to take care of her in danger and she felt awful.

On top of all that the threat to her life was obviously real! Somehow she had held on to the notion that Wolfe was wrong. But it wasn’t he who had been wrong, it was her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered helplessly. ‘I feel terrible.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ His voice was clipped, withdrawn. It made her feel worse because she could tell he was blaming himself.

Tears welled behind her eyes but she told herself not to get emotional. That now was not the time. But emotion was stronger than logic even on a good day. ‘That is nonsense. I should have—’

‘No! I should have.’ His eyes met hers and he stopped. ‘Where are you hurt?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘Ava.’ The way he said her name was a warning that he was going to go completely macho if she didn’t cooperate, but all she could think about was how much she loved the way it sounded on his lips.

‘My wrist.’ And her hip. And she could really use a glass of water.

As if she’d spoken out loud he retrieved a bottle from the mini-bar and untwisted the top.

‘Merci.’

After she’d finished he took the bottle. ‘Give me a look at your hands.’

Shaking, Ava held them out and he gently felt along her wristbones. She winced as he pressed on her tender palm, but he continued his inspection undeterred.

‘I don’t think bones are broken, but your palms are badly scraped.’

‘They’ll heal,’ she dismissed, catching his brooding frown.

‘Thankfully.’

His phone rang before she could ask what would happen next and he released her hand to answer it.

She closed her eyes as the night-dark city whisked by. Wolfe didn’t try to touch her or talk to her again but she wanted him to. She felt chilled, as if she’d never be warm again. And for once she didn’t argue when he took complete control of the situation. Right now it was easier to sit back and let him do what he did best.

She stole a glance at his austere profile. His jaw was packed with tension, his expression tough. He would do anything to keep her safe because he had to, and all she wanted was for him to do it because he wanted to.

With a start she realised just how much she trusted him to take care of her. How much she trusted him to have her best interests at heart.

‘Please don’t be angry at Dan,’ she said, suddenly realising that she might have put the other man’s job at risk. ‘He tried to stop me.’

‘I’m not angry at Dan,’ he said flatly.

No. He was angry with her. With himself, perhaps.

‘You won’t fire him?’

‘Your concern for his future is a little misplaced. Your behaviour tonight could have got him killed. It could have got you—Hell! What were you thinking?’

Although his words were angry his tone sounded more…devastated. And that sent her own sense of guilt higher.

‘I wanted…something familiar. Closure.’

‘Closure?’

‘I felt restless after you left and I knew I wouldn’t sleep. It seemed like a good idea.’

He shook his head. ‘I should have told Dan to physically waylay you.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

His gaze was intense when it connected with hers. ‘I didn’t want him touching you.’

Ava swallowed at the raw admission.

‘Just another mistake on my part.’ He blew out a breath and turned away from her, his hands knotted into fists on his thighs.

‘Do you think any of Monique’s paintings survived?’

He looked at her as if she’d grown another head, but then his expression softened. ‘Unlikely. Your fire door sent most of the explosion inward instead of outward. It tells me that whoever set it was more rank amateur than stalwart professional.’