Page 52 of The Colour of Revenge

I pull her into my arms, my hands grabbing her hips, and burrow my face into her neck, breathing in her scent—fresh daisies.

I hold Carina's hand as I help her into my BMW X5—a ridiculously over-the-top gift from my father that screams,I have money but zero originality—before jogging around to the driver's side.

"Ready for this?" I ask, keeping my tone casual and my nerves buried under my attempt at confidence.

"I think so." She's studying her hands, her fingers twisting together like they might unlock some secret to avoiding the night ahead.

"What's wrong?"

"Just... nervous about being around so many people."

Her honesty blindsides me. "You? Nervous?" I say, my voice pitching up in disbelief. I can't help it—this is the woman who tortured and killed a man with nothing but a knife the other week and acted like it was a minor inconvenience.

She lets out a breath so long it sounds like she's deflating. "The last time I was around so many people, I was being sold for auction."

Oh. Shit.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, and I feel this white-hot rage bubbling up. I knew she'd been through hell—she's hunting down the men responsible, for God's sake—butsold? Like some kind of property?

And then it hits me.

Oh my God, I told her I own her.

My stomach drops. My face must look like I've just seen a ghost because I've just become the human embodiment of regret. Of all the things to say to someone who's been throughthat, I chosethat.

"You're safe with me," I manage to say, though my brain is screaming at me to dig a hole and crawl into it. "I'd never let anything happen to you." I glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. "I didn't scare you when I got, uh… possessive the other day, did I? Because you know I didn't mean it like that."

God, Nate. Stop talking. Stop digging. Abort.

She turns to look at me, and I brace for impact.

"No.” There’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "You didn't scare me. You were... intense, but not in a bad way."

Relief floods me, but I'm not out of the woods. I make a mental note: Never sayownto a woman. Ever again.

We pull up outside the venue, which is a fancy hotel I don't remember the name of. The valet holds Carina's door open, and I rush to give her my hand when she exits.

Immediately, the paparazzi start snapping images of us, and Carina cringes into my side. This was a terrible idea. I never stopped to think what this would do to her.

My face isn't often pictured about my father, and I don't broadcast my business in these circles. It makes my extracurricular activities easier if I don't have to navigate past lurking cameras. However, it's hard to avoid events like this. Another reason I hate going to them.

I shift my stance, keeping Carina shielded from the cameras. Steering her inside as fast as possible, I murmur against her ear.

"Doing so well, sweetheart." My voice is low, coaxing. "Gonna reward you later for being such a good girl."

Her spine straightens at that. The tension in her frame melts just a little.

By the time we step into the entrance, she's back.

Confident. In control.

Her eyes gleam with newfound determination.

"Can you pretend you didn't just see me like that?" Carina asks.

"Like what?" I ask, feigning ignorance with a playful smile.

"Thanks, Nate." She lets out a breath, relaxing further.