The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Throwing all my faith into how much I mean to him, I let him go, run around the side of the two of them and push in between as soon as he reels back to take another punch. I close my eyes tight and brace myself for the impact of at least one hit, because of how quickly I have managed to get between the two bodies. Freezing when I do so, inhaling sharply as I prepare for a smack, but nothing happens.

I open one eye, and then the other slowly, relieved to see him staring at me, fist poised in mid-air and breathing so hard that he’s panting. His eyes are on mine, a look of confusion and rage mingled together, and I literally cross myself and make a little ‘thank you’ sign to the gods above, even though I’m not religious. That could have been goddamn nasty.

I reach out, grabbing his wrist and pull it down to me, cradling his bunched fist in my two hands and pull him with me, tugging him in the direction of the door. Too many onlookers are fussing over the semi-dead man on the floor, and I can already see he’s out cold. I have no idea which hit put him there, maybe he was only semi-alert from the first blow, but all I can think is ‘You deserve it, you scumbag’.

Treating Arrick like a child victim, I lead him away, walking backwards hurriedly. Banging into people, keeping my eyes on his and urging him to come with me. Managing to get far enough away from the man he left mangled on the floor, and no one seems to be looking our way. In all the confusion and drunkenness of people here, I doubt anyone really knows what went down as it all happened so fast. I manage to turn and haul ass, pulling him as he speeds up to follow me out of the dancing area and to the quieter outer lobby. Turning back on him just as he snaps out of that fight rage he goes into. Arrick back from planet cuckoo, where his head goes during battle.

“Sophs?” His face softens, his jaw slackens, pupils dilate and then he’s all over me. Hands around my face and throat, pulling me so we’re nose to nose and breathing against me like he has lost all control. That broad chest heaving with the effort. “Tell me you’re okay; tell me he didn’t hurt you.” He seems overwhelmed, emotion going crazy as he keeps pulling my face to his, too close for this to be innocent. His forehead against mine, his hands in my hair and around my throat gently, checking me for wounds, checking that I’m breathing. He’s uncontrolled, losing all normal Arry restraint and still wired.

rein him in, cool is hands on me and the way he keeps bringing my mouth close to his to share air, his nose pressed into my face as though he needs my face against his to calm down. His hands burying themselves in the underside of my hair over my ears, crouching slightly so I’m in between his thighs. Pelvis to pelvis, so he’s at my height as he assures himself that I’m not damaged. It’s intimate, even with his frantic

I wasn’t still stuck in the bristling mode of ‘don’t touch me’ from what just happened I would be enjoying this a little too much, but I ‘m just being suffocated. Stuck in defensive

him, bring him some calm. He just keeps bringing me back again and again, hands roaming all over me, his mouth so close he almost grazes my lips more than once. He’s in emotional turmoil, senses overwhelmed, keeping me with him and pulled to his body, no matter what I do. He’s intent on bringing our faces together, so he can hold me. His eyes ravaging me with obsessive need

he shouldn’t be touching me like this even if I wasn’t feeling this way. When I catch a glimpse of Natasha from the corner of my eye coming towards us, I push him away hard. Putting a little distance between us and trying to signal with facial gestures to calm the fuck down. Nothing in his behavior

coldly, pushing his hands back again as he tries to pull me back. I grab his wrist instead and tug him to the side to alert him to her approaching figure. Facial messages are not doing anything to reel in his hands-on behavior. Arrick’s too focused on me, missing the signal and reaches out again to try and haul my body back to his. It’s like he’s stuck in overprotective mode of checking for damage, only focused on touching me and reassuring himself that I really am

harshly, slapping down his hand, like scolding a child, turning to meet her with a serious look on my face and breathing heavily. I’m still recovering from my

not sure what she’s walking into as we’re both acting cagey as shit, and I know this must look dodgy as hell. The odd expression on her face has me feeling guilty, even though I’ve done nothing wrong this time. I’ve no idea how much she saw, and I feel awkward, ashamed, which annoys