Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
My chest seizes up at the sight of a tear rolling down her cheek, and then I’m wrapping her in flannel, neck to knees, and hauling her up against my chest. “I’ve got you, baby,” I say again, vibrating with rage on her behalf. “Where are your…” I search for the right word. “People. Where are the people who are supposed to be protecting you?”
“I don’t have any,” she whispers, snuggling close to me, hesitating for the barest moment before wrapping her arms around my waist. “It looks like you’ve got the job now.”
“Me?” I’m shocked by the sense of responsibility that crowds my throat. “I’m supposed to be throwing you out of here.”
She leans back, her chin nestled in my chest hair, blinking tearful eyes up at me.
Pouts. Ever-so-slightly.
And my heart starts to knock in a dangerous rhythm.
“Can you take me to my trailer?” she sniffs.
“I…I, uh…”
Damn, I feel like an awkward giant, holding this flawless, young actress when I’m nothing but a laundry list of flaws. A chest full of hair. Faded tattoo sleeves, the beginnings of some love handles. Sure, I’m strong as an ox. I wield a chainsaw and load lumber for a living, but my free time is spent with my daughter, Erin, and pizza is the only food she eats, without fail. In another life, I was on a high protein diet and a strict gym regimen, but not now. I’m not soft by any means, but I’m not the kind of man who’d attract a princess of the screen like Jenna Fairchild.
Most likely, she sees me as the safe, older presence in this situation.
That’s what I’m going to be for her. The way I hope someone would be for my daughter, if she is ever in a bad position like this in the future.
“Sure,” I say, finally, bundling her closer, trying like hell to ignore the mounds of her tits against my stomach. Her vanilla sugar scent. “Where is your trailer?”
“Not too far away. In the clearing over here.” She nods toward my right shoulder. “Don’t let them take any more pictures of me,” she whispers, her cheek nuzzling between my pecs. Looking up at me like I’m her hero. “Please.”
Without hesitation, I turn my head and lock eyes with the slimeball who suggested she flash the camera. “I’m taking her to her trailer. Snap a photo, I snap your neck. Do you LA punks understand me, or should I talk slower?”
Slimeball pales. “We get the message.” Still, he leans to the right, trying to address the shivering girl in my arms. “Jenna, we don’t know anything about this man. You really shouldn’t be going anywhere alone with him.”
“I feel safer with him than I do with you.” She lowers her voice to a bemused whisper. “Safer than I do with anyone.”
Pressure catches me in the chest and I’m afraid to explore where it’s coming from, so I don’t waste any time lifting Jenna into my arms and stomping off toward the trailer. She rests her head on my shoulder and gives me that hero-worship look again, her fingers reaching up to stroke the side of my face. Protector. That’s how she sees me. Fate put me in the right place at the right time. That’s all this is. I need to look at her beautiful face objectively.
Not…
Not with this terrible yearning in my blood.
But Jesus, would any man on this earth be capable of looking at this girl and not thinking…what if? What if I was a decade younger?
What if I was worthy of someone so sweet?
You’re not.
Up ahead, I spot the white trailer, and we reach the steps within seconds. I yank open the door and turn sideways to carry her inside, letting it slap shut behind me.
Pink.
Everything is pink.
Dainty and flowery and fragile.
“Hell. I feel like a bull in a china shop in here. I’m afraid to break something.”
Jenna’s laugh is muffled by my shoulder. “Anything you break, I can replace. Except my heart.” Her eyes sparkle with a hint of humor, to let me know she’s joking. Obviously. “How is it that I feel so safe with you and I don’t even know your name?”
“Penn,” I say gruffly, hating how much I love her wrapped in my shirt. “Penn Holland.”
“Penn Holland,” she repeats in a murmur.
And to my horror, my balls get tight. Really, really fucking tight.
I’m thirty-three. A father to a seven-year-old. I just witnessed Jenna being horribly exploited. I should be ashamed of myself for getting stiff.
It has been way too long since I had sex. Years, I reckon.
Of course, this world-famous beauty that I just saw naked is getting me worked up. That’s all this is.
Sure.
Explain the lump that thickens in my jugular every time she bats her eyelashes.
Quickly, I search for a place to set her down. “I should go now. Let you get dressed.”