“Julianna is my fourth wife,” he said, cold eyes raking over her. “And I will not have you talk to me with such disrespect.”

“You turn up unannounced to berate me. What did you expect?” The words rushed out of Libby before she could stop them; goading her father would do no good, but the clench of his jaw gave her a millisecond of satisfaction.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I own this house. You live here practically rent-free. That means I will turn up whenever I damn well please.”

The chilly tone of his voice rankled Libby. She hated that he could sound so emotionless when talking to her. But that was exactly the point, her relationship with her father had never been about emotion. She was merely a trophy for his collection.

“I want you to leave.” She would either scream or cry or hurl something at him if he didn’t vanish from her sight in the next thirty seconds.

“I will leave when I am damn well ready.”

“She wants you out of here.” Paul walked through the entranceway into the living room, his face hard. “I suggest you do it.”

Libby’s breath caught in her throat. Having Paul here was going to make it worse. The last thing she wanted was for someone else to witness this humiliating exchange with her father. “How did you get in here?”

“The front door was unlocked. I heard yelling.” He looked from Libby to her father and back again. His forehead creased, and his shoulders bunched around his neck as though he sensed the tension in the air and had embodied it.

“And you are?” Her father turned to Paul, his brow quirked in disdain.

“Libby’s boyfriend.” He folded his arms across his chest, unflinching in the face of Kirk Harris’s legendary withering stare.

“Seems you’ve chosen your men as well as you’ve chosen your career,” he said, looking back to Libby and shaking his head. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because you’re not trying to help me.” Her head swam, and she pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You’re doing this for yourself.”

“How can you say that?”

For a moment she wondered if there was a hint of emotion in his voice, a small crack in the tough outer shell that might allow her a peek inside. Did he really care about her deep down? She hated that even now a part of her still hoped it might be true.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Dad. Please just go.”

Paul took a step toward her father, his six-foot plus frame giving him an inch or two. Dressed all in black, he seemed even bigger. Stronger.

“Do I need to make you leave?” Paul asked. Unlike her father, his tone was filled with undisguised emotion.

Kirk tilted his chin. “I own this place.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to talk to Libby like that. Apologize to her and then leave.” His dark eyes flashed like black fire.

“I will do as I please.”

Paul grabbed her father by the shoulder. The grip wouldn’t be enough to do any serious damage, but the message was clear. He leaned in close and whispered something that made the blood drain from her father’s face.

When Paul released him, the older man glared at Libby before stalking toward the front door.

“You should start looking for somewhere new to live,” her father said in his usual ice-cold tone just before the door slammed shut behind him.

“What did you say to him?” she asked, wariness spreading through her system and making her limbs heavy.

“I simply reminded him that as a father it’s his job to take care of his daughter, not to treat her like a piece of meat.”

“I’m sure you said it so eloquently as well.”

Paul smirked. “I may have colored outside the lines a little.”

She shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her sundress. Having Paul witness the truth behind her family—especially after seeing how loving and caring his family was—made her feel exposed, like he could see the fabric of imperfections that she’d tried so hard to cover up.

She was unlovable, and it shamed her.

“I wish you didn’t see that.” She sucked on her top lip and turned away from him, needing a moment to gather herself.

“Why?”

She shrugged, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Heat burned in her chest and neck. She walked to the fridge, her heels clicking against the tiled floor, and reached for a bottle of water.

So much for keeping Paul at a distance. The image of him standing there—protecting her, defending her—rolled around in her brain. No one had ever done that for her before…and it felt good.

“The guy’s clearly a jerk. It’s not a reflection of you.”

Libby didn’t turn around, so Paul had full view of her copper hair as it tumbled down the back of the white dress she wore. The sharp contrast struck a chord in him; she looked like a painting. Unreal.

Perfect.

Except that her guard had shot up the minute he walked in the front door. No surprise there, her father was a Grade A prick. If it had been anyone else they’d be sporting a broken nose for talking to her in such a demeaning way.

Getting him out of the house before he caused the guy some serious damage had been tough.

Tightness gripped his chest. She wasn’t his to protect, in reality, she wasn’t his at all. So why did he feel that roar of desire to pull her into his arms and comfort her? He did not comfort women.

That was a job for real boyfriends.

But the question hovered on his tongue, needling at him. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “You’re right. He’s a total jerk…sadly, I’m used to it.”

“So this isn’t just because you’ve dropped out of med school?”

“No, it’s not. He treated my mother like crap for as long as I can remember.” She turned and closed the fridge, leaning back against it while she sipped water from a bottle. “They only got married because she got pregnant at nineteen. They fought most of the time while I was growing up, and they ended up divorcing when I was ten.”

He listened as her history tumbled from her mouth in a rush of words as if she’d been trying to get it out for a long time. Normally this would be his idea of hell—being a shoulder to cry on wasn’t exactly his forte outside the sob stories he occasionally got at the bar.

But he found himself wanting to listen to Libby, wanting to be the person she turned to…not that he had even the slightest clue as to what to say to her in return. He’d always been better with actions than words.

“Mum got nothing out of the divorce. Dad had made her sign a prenup, and she ended up working crazy hours to make rent in the area where I went to school. Dad paid for my education, but he made it hard for her whenever he could. I think by the time she remarried and had another kid she didn’t want to see me much because I reminded her of all that.”

“And your Dad remarried?”

“He’s onto his fourth wife. It’s no wonder I don’t believe in marriage.” She rolled her eyes.

Paul let out a long, low whistle. “Fourth? At some point you just have to admit that something’s not working.”

“I swear, each one gets worse than the last. It’s like he purposefully tries to find these vapid, gold-digging wenches without a brain in their head. This current one could be on one of those Real Housewives TV shows.”

Paul cringed.

“My mother wasn’t like that, but she has a new family now.” The sadness in her voice hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’re probably bored to tears.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said, motioning for her to continue.

She picked at the hem of her dress, her brows burrowed into a deep frown. “Dad’s good at forcing people to do what he wants. It’s one of the reasons I want to make this business work. If I make my own money I can do what I like. I never really wanted to be a doctor.”

“What did you want to be?”

“You know, I have no idea. I poured so much energy into trying to please him I never thought about what I actually wanted. Then by the time I decided I wanted to do my own thing I had no idea which direction to take.”