Defiance (The Protectors #9)(37)

I nodded and led him to my office to get him set up with a computer.



“Here,” Nathan said as he set the laptop down on the kitchen island. I was in the midst of preparing dinner, so I put down the knife I’d been using to chop vegetables and pulled the laptop around so I could see it. Nathan came around the island and pointed at the screen. “These are the emails I worked on,” he said as he put his finger on the tracking pad and moved the mouse to open the draft folder. “You can check the sent folder to see that I didn’t send anything without letting you look at it first.”

“Not necessary,” I said. I only glanced at the emails in the draft folder before hitting the send button. It was a monumental effort on my part not to actually read them, but I’d had a lot of time to think about what Nathan had said. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him…I didn’t know how to trust, period. Even with Everett, it had taken me years to get to the point where I’d let him into my life. But there were things I still kept from him, and not just to protect him.

I felt Nathan’s eyes on me as I turned the laptop back towards him and resumed cutting up the vegetables.

“I also worked on a speech I have to give later this month...did you want to see it?”

I shook my head. “Only if you need a second opinion on it.” I lifted my gaze and said, “And since we both know I’m pretty much the worst one to ask for a second opinion on a political speech….”

Nathan smiled and I inwardly cursed the dreaded butterflies in my belly. Hadn’t felt those damn things since I’d been with David.

“It’s not a political speech,” he said as he closed the computer.

When he didn’t say anything else I said, “What kind of speech is it?”

“Nothing,” he responded, shaking his head.

“Tell me,” I urged.

His pretty eyes settled on mine and I could see the uncertainty in them. God, I really was an asshole if he was this afraid to tell me something that clearly seemed to be both personal and important to him.

“Tell me,” I repeated, softening my voice and stopping what I was doing.

“It’s this career day thing for a youth center in Charleston. It specializes in helping homeless kids get off the street. I’ve been volunteering there for a while and the director asked me to give a speech about government service.”

“You volunteer there?” I asked softly. “I didn’t see anything about that-” I stopped abruptly when I realized what I’d been about to say. I hadn’t seen evidence of that when I’d been digging into his personal life.

“I don’t want people to know because then the center becomes the focus of reporters. And my opponent will say I’m there just to boost my image.”

I wasn’t someone who surprised easily, but he’d managed it. “What kind of volunteering do you do?”

Nathan shrugged. “Whatever they need. Legal stuff mostly. Sometimes just sitting and listening to the kids.”

I knew Nathan was a lawyer, but I’d assumed he’d gotten the degree just so he could use it to get into office. I’d assumed a lot of things.

“What are you making?”

His question pulled me from my thoughts, especially the questions of self-doubt that had begun to pop into my head. What else had I gotten wrong about him? I’d only viewed him through the lens of financial accounts, emails, news articles and interviews…how much had I missed about the real Nathan Wilder?

“Stir-fry,” I said.

“Do you need help?”

I didn’t, but something about this tiny moment of peace had me saying, “Would you mind emptying the dishwasher?”

He nodded, and then he was pulling the dishes out and setting them on the counter. As I worked, I told him where things went. I was so distracted by the sight of him moving so comfortably around my kitchen, I lost track of the knife and let out a harsh curse when I felt the sharp blade slice into my finger.

“Fuck,” I muttered as blood began welling up from the cut. It wasn’t overly deep, but I still felt foolish for even letting it happen. Especially considering why it had happened.

“Damn,” Nathan said, and then he was grabbing my wrist and leading me to the sink. I barely noticed the cold water running over the wound as his warm fingers held onto my wrist to keep me from moving my hand.

“You have a first aid kit?” he asked. When his eyes met mine, we both stilled as electricity charged the air around us. He swallowed hard and then forced his eyes down. “If it needs stitches, you’re on your own,” he said with a nervous laugh.

But I couldn’t find it in me to laugh. I didn’t know why.

His eyes lifted to mine again, probably at my lack of response, and I watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“First aid kit?” he said softly, distractedly.

“Second drawer,” I said as I motioned to the cabinet behind him. I missed his touch when he released my hand to go get the kit. He grabbed it and then he was handing me a clean dishtowel. “Put pressure on it,” he offered.

I certainly didn’t need to be told how to treat the minor injury, nor did I need him to dress it, but when he told me to sit down at the table, I did it anyway. And when he brought the second chair around to face the chair I was sitting in, I held my breath. Sure enough, when he sat, his legs shifted until one was between my legs. I barely heard anything he said as he carefully cleaned and dressed the wound, which wasn’t bad enough to warrant a stitch. It barely needed a Band-Aid, but something about him fussing over me was fucking with my head, and I found myself reluctant to tell him just to leave it alone.