Free Fistful of Roses (What a Woman Wants, Book 1) by Lea Griffith Page A

originally opened the door expecting to see: Ryan.
    “Are you okay?” His voice was guttural.
    She shook. The shivering started in her stomach and expanded into her limbs as she pressed against him, instinct telling her body he was a safe harbor in the midst of this crazy storm.
    “Sophie! Are you okay?” he asked again and this time, he lifted her face to his.
    She saw his lips move, but the shock of Gavin’s attack hadn’t dissipated. The anger she needed wouldn’t rise. Her eyes burned and she heard a moan from the corner where he’d been tossed.
    “Ms. Hanson, answer me, damn it. Are. You. Okay?” His tone sharp now, it had her gaze seeking his out, and what she saw there reassured her. She was safe. Safe enough to answer him surely.
    “I’m fine. How did you…?”
    He shook his head as he ran his thumb along her cheekbones. “Who is that man?”
    “Phie, who the hell is that?” Gavin demanded from the floor.
    Ryan turned, said something in a very low voice, and the other man whimpered. He sounded like cornered prey, and it reminded her of another night, similar to this one, only the outcome had been drastically different. Like her in a hospital different.
    “I’m whoever the fuck I am. Now shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” Ryan bit out.
    She smiled a little at that. Her mood switched gears that easily. All it took was a threat from Ryan to shut Gavin up? She wished Ryan had been there her whole life.
    “Sophie, I need to call the police,” Ryan said as his thumbs continued to stroke the skin under her eyes.
    She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The police would only make this worse.
    “No. No police,” she whispered, and she grabbed his wrists, the contact soothing, his skin so warm it made her shiver. She pulled his hands down and stepped around him.
    He kept his hand on her back, his body turned so that at a second’s notice he could protect her. She felt her heart crack into a thousand pieces. The man picking himself off her floor had caused nothing but harm since she was young, but the man beside her, who she’d known for about six months, would do whatever it took to keep her from it.
    “Who is he, Sophie?” Ryan’s voice was demanding but soothing at the same time. Pitched low, it carried no farther than her ears.
    She looked at him then. His blue eyes were ocean dark, turbulent. She sighed deeply, unable to prevent the single tear that tracked down her cheek.
    “No police, Ryan. He’s my brother.”

Chapter 8
    They’d decided against going out for supper, instead ordering in from Mu Lan’s Chinese restaurant. She was queasy but managed to get down some egg drop soup and some Mandarin beef before she’d had to stop for fear of throwing it all back up. Now she sipped hot tea and watched her boss devour Peking ribs. She’d had time to get over that initial fear of her brother’s attack. He was messed up, probably hopped up on something or other, not in his right mind. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt that he’d gone after her, but he hadn’t been her Gavin in too many years to count.
    She laid her head against the chaise back and breathed in deeply. The television was on some news channel that provided a droning background noise. Her gaze was drawn back to Ryan, and her heart accelerated.
    Was it wrong to be turned on by the sight of his lips moving over the succulent rib meat? Was it bad that she wanted to lick his jawline every time it flexed and the muscle there became delineated as he chewed? After the wringer she’d just been through, did she have the energy to care?
    Not really. He’d come in like a white knight on a charger and saved her from her brother, of all people. The man had yet to make a wrong move with her. Everything he did, every move he made, forced her to want him more.
    He cleared his throat. Her gaze flew to his; heat raced up her neck. Caught staring. Pathetic . He raised an eyebrow as he wiped his fingers on a napkin and took a drink of his