CHAPTER 162: NOT A PRINCESS

~HELENA~

"Could you go check on Tye? Make sure he has everything he needs?"

"Yes, ma’am. Have a good night’s sleep, boss."

"Goodnight, Helena."

I walked toward the back of the apartment, following the sound of water running in the kitchen. When I turned the corner, I froze.

Tye was standing by the sink, shirtless, taking long gulps from a water bottle as if he had just come out of the desert.

I couldn’t help but stare.

This guy was seriously fit. He wasn’t just your typical gym guy; he had the kind of physique that was to die for. His shoulders and back were lined with lean muscles, and his abs were well-defined in a way you would want to run your hands through them.

’Damn, what am I thinking?’ I asked myself.

What really grabbed my attention were the scars all over his body, like a map of past troubles. There were bullet marks, cuts from knives, and patches of burned skin. Each one had its own story, and honestly, I’m sure I didn’t want to know them.

Fresh stitches marked his side, dark thread against angry red skin, and he was moving like they weren’t even there.

"You shouldn’t be walking around," I said finally, finding my voice. "You’ll pop your stitches."

He turned, smirking. "Worried about me, princess?"

"Don’t call me that." I snatched the water bottle from his hand. "And yes, someone has to worry since you clearly don’t care about your own well-being."

"I’ve had worse."

"That doesn’t make this okay." I set the bottle on the counter. "I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you. Gangster vibes all over. And now you’ve dragged them into shootouts?"

"They dragged me," he countered, leaning against the counter like we were having a casual chat instead of standing in my kitchen at three in the morning after a rescue operation.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Believe what you want. Doesn’t change the facts."

"The facts are that Mrs. O’Brien got kidnapped, Mr. O’Brien got shot, and you..." I gestured at his bandaged side, "...look like you’ve been through a war."

"Not a war. Just a minor skirmish."

"A minor skirmish? There were bullets! Plural!"

"Only two hit their targets. The rest missed. That’s actually pretty good odds."

I stared at him. "You’re insane."

"Maybe." He grabbed another water bottle. "But I got the job done. Layla’s safe. That’s what matters."

"At what cost? You could have died."

"But I didn’t."

"You almost did!"

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, princess."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Why? It suits you. All proper and prissy, living in your safe little world where the worst thing that happens is a late delivery or a rude client."

I felt a surge of heat wash over me, a mix of anger and something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. "You don’t know anything about me."

"I know enough. You held that flashlight steady while the doc worked on me. Didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, didn’t panic. Most people can’t do that."

"That’s just being professional."

"No, that’s having steel in your spine." He moved closer, and I should have stepped back, but I didn’t. "You’re tougher than you look, Helena."

"And you’re more reckless than you look, which is saying something considering you look like trouble personified."

"Trouble personified?" He grinned. "That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week."

"It wasn’t a compliment."

"Sounded like one to me."

We stood there, barely three feet apart, the air between us charged with something electric. I should leave. I should turn around, walk away, and go check on Mrs O’Brien like a normal, rational person would.

But I didn’t move.

Neither did he.

"You know what your problem is?" I said, trying to break the tension.

"I have a feeling you’re about to tell me."

"You think you’re invincible. You think these scars..." I gestured at his torso, "...make you untouchable. But they don’t. They just make you human. Vulnerable. Mortal."

"Never said I was invincible."

"You act like it."

"There’s a difference between being invincible and being willing to take risks for people who matter."

"And do they matter? Mrs. O’Brien? Mr. O’Brien?"

"Yeah. They do."

Something in his tone made my anger falter. There was sincerity there, buried under all the bravado and swagger.

"I still think you’re reckless," I said, but softer this time.

"And I still think you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for."

"I’m not..."

"You are." He paused, his expression shifting into something more serious. "I like you, Helena."

My breath caught. "What?"

"I like you. The way you stood your ground when we showed up bleeding and armed. The way you helped without asking questions. The way you called me out just now, instead of tiptoeing around me like everyone else does."

"You’re delirious. The painkillers must be..."

"Didn’t take any painkillers. Stitches are fine. My feelings aren’t."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. "You don’t even know me."

"I know enough. I know you didn’t hesitate to open your door in the middle of the night when your boss needed help. I know you’re standing here arguing with me instead of running away like most people would. That’s enough for me."

"I just came to see if you needed anything before I went to bed," I said, but my voice wavered.

"And if I say I need you?"

He took another step closer. I should move. Should put distance between us. I should remember that this man was dangerous, that he lived a life I wanted no part of, and that getting involved with him would be the worst decision I could possibly make.

But I watched with a racing heart as he leaned in slowly, as if giving me every chance to pull away.

I felt his warmth surrounding me, enveloping me in a cocoon of heat. His warm breath gently touched my skin in an intoxicating way, sending shivers down my spine.

There was tension in the air, and I could almost taste the anticipation between us.

Still, I didn’t move, and his lips met mine.

The kiss was gentle at first, testing, then it grew deeper when I didn’t resist. His hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek, and I found myself leaning into the kiss instead of away from it.

It was wrong... stupid, and completely irrational, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as his lips moved over mine, tasting and sucking on my lower lip.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with something that made my stomach flip.

For a moment, no one spoke.

"That was a thank you," he murmured, his voice sounding rougher than before. "For letting us crash here tonight."

"Oh." It was all I could manage. My brain had apparently short-circuited.

"Cat got your tongue, princess?"

I blinked, trying to regain some composure. "I should... I should go get some sleep."

"Should you?"

"Yes. It’s late. Or early. Whatever time it is."

"It’s three-thirty in the morning."

"Right. So I should definitely sleep."

But I still didn’t move, and neither did he.

"Helena?"

"Yeah?"

"You alright? Or do you need more thanks?" His lips quirked into that infuriating smirk, but there was heat behind it now.

My mouth went dry. "I... you... we shouldn’t..."

"Probably not."

"Definitely not."

"And yet here we are."

"Here we are," I echoed weakly.

He leaned in again, stopping just short of my lips. "Last chance to run, princess."

I should run... I should absolutely run, but instead, I closed the distance between us and kissed him again.