Sheltered By The Ruthless Hockey King

Alessandro POV:

I watched the girl beside me. She was soaked through,like a cornered animal. My hand, resting on my knees, tightened into fists.

Those wide, warm brown eyes, filled with a wariness, were still startlingly clear.

I knew exactly who she was. Eleanor Nash. An orphan adopted by the Guy family, and the gifted digital artist I have long admired.

She hadn't answered me. Her fingers curled around the handkerchief I'd just offered, but she didn't look at it.

I waited. When the silence stretched on, I understood she had nowhere to go.

"Drive," I told Eric. "Home first." The car pulled away smoothly, melting into the river of New York's nighttime traffic.

I shrugged off my suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

The movement startled her. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with suspicion and confusion.

I offered no explanation. I just spoke to my driver. "Turn up the heat."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She pulled the jacket tighter around herself and buried her face in the collar, leaving only her eyes visible, watching me.

I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes, feigning rest. But through my lashes, I watched her. Her dress was torn at the hem. Her ankles were red and swollen. The gash on her knee was still sluggishly weeping blood. My jaw clenched.

I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my chief investigator, Julian Hayes. Look into the Guy family and Maynard Group. All recent activity. Specifically anything related to Eleanor Nash.

Eleanor Nash. I repeated the name in my mind.

The wariness in her eyes began to soften. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe the warmth of the car and the weight of the jacket finally made her feel safe. Her head began to nod. Finally, it tilted to the side and came to rest on my shoulder.

Her soft, even breaths fanned across my neck. My entire body went rigid.

I turned my head slightly. I could see her long lashes, dark against her pale skin, fluttering in her sleep. I held my position, not daring to move, not wanting to wake her.

Eric glanced in the rearview mirror. A flicker of surprise crossed his face behind his glasses, but he was a professional. He said nothing and kept his eyes on the road.

I had never let any woman this close. But she was different.

I watched the neon lights of the city streak past the window. A plan was beginning to form in my mind. I would keep her with me.

She must have been having a nightmare. Her body twitched, and a small, muffled whimper escaped her lips.

My hand moved on its own, an instinct to soothe her, but I stopped it mid-air. I couldn't risk frightening her.

I pulled my hand back, merely shifting my weight to let her rest more comfortably against me.

The car finally came to a stop in the private garage beneath my Manhattan penthouse.

She was still sound asleep. I didn't wake her. I opened my door, leaned over, and carefully scooped her into my arms.

She was light, almost weightless. My jacket slipped from her shoulders, revealing the pale, fragile line of her collarbone.

I carried her through the private elevator, straight to the top floor.

Eric followed silently behind me, opening the door to my apartment.

I walked her to the guest room and gently laid her down on the soft, king-sized bed, pulling the duvet over her.

I stood by the bed for a long moment, just looking at her sleeping face. That strange, unsettling pull I'd felt in the alley was now a clear, sharp thrum in my chest.

I turned and left the room, closing the door quietly. Eric was waiting for me.

"Contact my personal physician. I want him here immediately," I ordered. "And get some clothes and other necessities for her."

Eric simply nodded. He never asked questions.

I went to the living room and poured myself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one swallow.

Eleanor Nash.

This time, I wouldn't let you get away.