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Fuck.

That pencil skirt's doing one hell of a job showing them off.

She can't be much older than her mid-twenties. And here I am, thirty-seven fucking years old, checking her out while she's having a panic attack.

I'm a sick bastard.

Get your head out of your ass, Vex.

"Listen to me, Kierra."

She blinks at me.

"You're safe. That prick ain't touching you again."

Her gaze darts toward the man sprawled on the gravel.

Then back to me.

"You..."

"Vex. Colt Blake."

Her mouth opens.

"The protection service?"

"That's me."

"Oh, God."

"Yeah. Been one hell of a day."

Her breathing catches again.

I keep my voice low.

"Easy, darlin'. Take your time. I'm right here."

I stay where I am.

Every damn muscle in my body wants to haul her into my arms, check her over, and put myself between her and anything that even looks like trouble.

Hell, I want to wrap her up and take her somewhere nobody can get near her.

What the fuck?

I don't cuddle. Don't fuss. Don't get involved in anybody's personal shit unless there's a damn good reason.

And I sure as hell don't go soft over a woman I just met.

But seeing her shake like this, still looking at me like I might hurt her?

Makes me want to punch something.

Preferably that asshole's face.

Again.