Who will protect him? Before I can ask this, John pulls me into a fervent embrace, pressing his lips against my forehead. This feels like good-bye. My heart pounds.

“Now, go.” John flattens his palm between my shoulder blades and propels me forward.

I focus on his touch as I pelt down the stairs. As long as John’s palm rests on my back, I know he’s behind me, he’s safe.

I’m not worried about my own life. My body is sandwiched between the two larger men’s physiques, shielded by broad shoulders and hard muscle.

I’m concerned about John’s safety. He’d protect me with his own body, die for me, if this was necessary. I realize this now.

And I couldn’t live without him. The men descend silently and I try to mimic their light treads, the smack of my boot heels against the concrete obscenely loud.

My thighs burn. A trickle of perspiration drips down my spine. My lungs ache, my breathing ragged. I fix my gaze on Tiny’s shoulders and concentrate on moving my legs, on not falling.

A shot fires and I flinch, my left boot connecting with a beer bottle on the landing. As I watch, horrified, unable to do anything, it rolls off the edge, falls, shatters against the concrete. Tiny exhales, this soft sound expressing his disgust, and he draws his gun.

John grips my hip and squeezes. We move even faster, a feat I didn’t think possible. His hold steadies me, reminding me of my goal. We must move my billionaire to safety.

We reach the bottom of the stairwell and Tiny motions for us to stop. He opens the door, gazes to the left and to the right, flicks his fingers forward. I exit the building, John following me. Children no longer play in the streets, our surroundings eerily empty, freakishly still.

Tiny ushers us into the waiting car, the second of three vehicles. I enter first. John slides into the seat beside me and pushes my face into his lap, bowing his body over mine, covering me. The floor rumbles under my boots. We must be moving. All I can see is denim-covered thighs.

Shots were fired. We could have died. I shake uncontrollably.

“You’re safe, love,” John murmurs, straightening. “I have you.” He rubs one of his hands over my back, his touch soothing me. He’s alive, unharmed. I’m alive, unharmed. I breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. The tremors ease and I slowly relax.

“Is everyone okay?” I whisper.

“Everyone is okay.” John removes my baseball cap and releases my hair, threading his fingers through the curls. “I can’t promise you that everyone will always be okay.”

I turn my head and gaze up at him. His eyes are hard. Grooves are etched around his lips. “No one can make that promise.” I caress his chest, seeking to distract him from his concerns. “I’ve read that the most dangerous place in the world is the bathroom.”

John lifts one of his eyebrows. “Are you handling me, Grant?”

For the entire day, I’ve been Trella. Now, I’m Grant. He’s retreating once more into business. Although I’m disappointed, I understand why. Today has been an emotionally challenging day for both of us. Business is easier on the heart.

“I wouldn’t presume to handle you, sir.” I return to my own seat.

John doesn’t allow me to move this far away from him. He hooks his right arm around my waist and pulls me to his side, tucking my curves into his muscle.

I sigh with contentment, savoring his heat, his musky scent. This is where I’m meant to be, with John. He rests his chin on the top of my head and gazes out the window. The neighborhoods become brighter, cleaner, wealthier.

There are plenty of opportunities for development in these less volatile communities. Some of these opportunities are more lucrative, allowing John to easily expand his empire without risking his personal safety.

But that isn’t the goal of the man I love. The man I love invests in areas, in people other businessmen won’t. He gives hope to the hopeless.

“I love you, John.” I press my lips to the silver scars around his neck.

“I know,” my arrogant man replies, a hint of humor in his voice. “Enough small talk.” He reaches into the side compartment and hands me my phone.

“Are we working, sir?” I ask, knowing the answer. There are two thousand and forty-four new messages in my mailbox, countless more voicemails. I swallow my groan.

“We’re always working, Grant.” John squeezes my hip, his touch softening his blunt words. “Ask Bass what type of temporary low-cost housing is available for the existing tenants. He should have also researched government grants.”

My boss’ voice rumbles, his list of must-knows long, almost never ending, as though he has been storing these requests in his overactive brain all day.

He likely has. He could have easily asked others for the answers. Instead, he waited to funnel the questions through me. I smile, feeling included, needed, loved.

* * *

We return to the house and work all afternoon. I reschedule John’s cancelled meetings. John makes call after call, driving his management team relentlessly, throwing himself into a frenzy of activity. I recognize it for what it is – an attempt to control his emotions, to distract himself from the trials of his stressful day.

I also realize it isn’t working. He doesn’t need to be the boss right now. I set my phone aside and slip onto his lap. He needs the release only I can give him. I untuck my T-shirt and slide one of his hands underneath the faded cotton. He needs me.

I arch as his calloused palm covers my left breast, my nipples tightening, aching for him, for this. John hardens, the ridge in his jeans pressing against my ass.

“Send the information to Grant by the end of the day.” My boss tosses his phone against the brown leather couch cushion. “We’re taking a break.” He pulls my shirt over my head, my crazy curls tumbling down my back, and he cups my breasts, pinching my nipples.

I wiggle, grinding my ass against him. “Can I assist you, sir?” My voice is husky with desire.

“I have the matter well in hand, Grant.” John pinches my nipples and pulls, elongating my sensitive flesh. I cry out, clenching his thighs, the pain delectable, the pleasure exquisite.

He sucks on my neck, his mouth as wet and hot as my pussy, his lips firm. I undulate against him, brushing my ass over his groin, tormenting him as he’s tormenting me.

There are too many barriers between us. Huffing with frustration, I unfasten my jeans, fold the denim back, and slip my fingers inside, skimming my fingertips over my private curls, dipping them into my wetness.

“Are you slick for me?” John asks, his breath wafting over my neck. He tightens his grip on my small breasts, molding my curves with his massive palms.

I reach deeper inside me, working my pussy. “I’m slick for you, sir.”

“Show me.”

His command sends a tremor down my spine. I hook my fingers and remove them, drawing moisture from my core. My scent fills my nostrils. I lift my hand, showing him the evidence of my arousal.

John closes his grim lips around my fingers and sucks, the tug of his mouth exciting me. He growls his approval, taking more of me into his heat, his tongue darting over my skin, my billionaire boss savoring every drop of my pussy juices.

“Oh my God.” I turn my head. He kisses me and I taste myself on his lips. “You know how to drive me crazy.”

“You showed me how to drive you crazy.” John slides one of his palms over my stomach, my mons, cupping me. I allow my head to loll back, submitting to his sure handling of my body. He holds me to him, not allowing me to move, as he taps my clit with his index finger, his slow, steady tempo making me wild. “I paid attention.”

“You paid too close attention,” I moan, my legs trembling.

“Don’t come until I’m inside you,” he orders, pushing me to my feet.

I turn around. His eyes are black with passion, the ridge in his faded jeans pronounced. My boss wants me. Badly.