His tone changes as he issues the command. It's gruff and demanding, and the need to please him has my eyes doing exactly what he says. There’s also a tingle between my thighs at the sound of his order. How the heck can his voice do that to me?
“Thank fuck,” he says with relief as he leans down and presses his mouth hard against mine. “You scared the shit out of me, little bit.”
I can see the fear in his eyes, and I hate that it’s there. Reaching up, I brush my fingers along his jaw, needing that connection more than I realized. The rough stubble against my fingers feels nice and reminds me that he’s here and he’s real. He hadn’t let anyone take me from him, and the safety in that warms me from the inside out.
“You saved me.” It’s not a question, because looking at him now, there’s no doubt he was my hero.
“Always.” He kisses me again, and this time I don’t want him to take his mouth off of me. My heart starts to pound for a whole other reason as I cling to him.
He pushes his tongue past my lips, claiming this kiss for himself. This one is different from all the others. He’s still got his hands on my face in a gentle hold, and although it’s sweet, I swear he’s trying to remind both of us that I still belong to him.
“Dutch.” I breathe his name.
“I’m right here, little bit, and I’m not going anywhere.” I realize I’m lying on a sofa at the safe house as Dutch picks me up. He sets me on a table nearby and turns on a light. I glance around the room that looks like it’s stuck in the 1980s.
“Where am I?”
“With me.” He smirks, making me snort a laugh. “Fuck, I love that sound.”
He drops his forehead to mine, and I feel a need to soothe him. I run my hands up and down his back. I want to do all I can to reassure him that I’m okay. Well, at least physically I am.
“What the heck happened?”
He lets out a sigh before stepping back and running his hand through his short hair. I think he’s debating what he should tell me. Maybe he doesn't trust me, but can I really blame him?
“Somehow they caught up with us,” he answers after a beat.
“When the man grabbed me, he said my father sent him.”
Dutch’s eyes narrows as he considers this. “Did you try and go with him?” His jaw goes tight.
“If I was going with him, why would he have drugged me? I was trying to get him to stop so we could all talk about this. It’s getting way out of hand.” My response makes him relax some but not by much. He’s on edge, and I can sense it like I’m attuned to him in some way.
He folds his arms over his chest and spells it out for me. “Your fake father tried to drug you.” I know he’s not saying this to hurt me, but the fact that this happened at all is super messed up.
“I guess. I mean, I was fighting the guy. He might have told him to do what he had to do to get me back.” I try to plead my father’s case, but I feel like I’m lying to myself. The only reason I’m defending him is to make myself feel better.
“You don’t send a man to drug your hot-as-fuck daughter so she has no idea what the hell might be happening to her.” Somehow his words both scare the crap at out me and make me giddy that he thinks I’m hot as fuck.
“You’re right.” I drop my head, unsure what I believe anymore. “Dutch, is everything you’re telling me true? Have you ever lied to me?” Two of his fingers come to my chin so he can lift my head to meet his eyes.
“I’ve never lied to you, and I never will.”
“I believe you. Which is crazy because you kidnapped me.”
“You trust me because your mind is putting things together. You’re following your gut.”
“And because I feel safe with you.” The words slip out, and I see a small smile tug at his lips. It makes me dream of getting a real smile from him one day.
“You’re safe with me, little bit. I still need to figure out what the hell is going on, but you’ll be protected.”
“What? Did something change?” I ask.
“Something feels off,” he says as I rest my hands on his hard chest. Touching him makes me feel more grounded and like my life isn’t so out of control.
“I think you’re right,” I agree. This is all too much.
“I’m always right.” I smack his chest playfully and roll my eyes.
This time I get a bit more of a smile as he leans down and kisses me. I moan into his mouth, and my fingers dig into his shirt. His hands go to my ass as he pulls me off the table and back over to the sofa.
“Time for another stretching session, Daddy?”
He lets out a loud groan. “You’re going to fucking kill me,” he says before his mouth comes back down on mine.
I start to close my eyes, but Dutch shifts, and in one quick motion he’s on his feet with his gun trained on something across the room. I tilt my head to see a man in an all black suit. There’s a deadliness about him that can’t be denied. Did my father send him too?
“I’ve got your transport,” he says, not the least bit bothered by Dutch pointing a gun at him. Dutch lowers the gun and tucks it in his belt. “It's ready when you are.” A smirk plays on the edge of his lips. “Daddy.”
Chapter Twelve
Dutch
“We’re leaving,” I say as I take Iris’s hand and then grab our newly packed bag.
“What? You’re not going to introduce me?” Sergio’s eyes linger on Iris, and I step in front of her.
“Iris, this is Sergio. He got us safe passage to Germany.” I feel her peek around my side and wave to him.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all—”
“Enough.” I scowl at him, and his smile broadens. He’s enjoying this more than I like. “Do you have any information for me?”
His smile falls, and he nods as he looks to Iris and then to me. I’ve known Sergio since we were children, and I can read him better than most. He’s got something to tell me, but he doesn’t want to say it in front of Iris.
“You can speak freely in front of her.” As much as I want to keep her sheltered, she needs to know the truth.
“Let’s sit down.” He motions to the table and chair, and I drop our bag. When we take a seat, he pulls out a folder with lots of papers and pictures inside. “You did a lot of the leg work for me, so it wasn’t difficult to connect the dots.”
He places the pictures I’ve already shown Iris in front of us. She looks at them and then at me.
“This is who you’re saying is my real family, right?”
“Yes.” Sergio brings out another photo and places it beside them. It’s a photo of an old woman holding a little girl in her lap. “This is you around the age you were taken.” Sergio pulls out another photo, and it’s of the older woman, but maybe a decade or two before. “This was your paternal grandmother, Anna. She was a viscountess in Germany and extremely wealthy.”
“What does that have to do with me?” I squeeze her hand and slide her chair closer to mine, needing to feel her warmth.