A thousand urges hit him at once—to hold her, to kiss her, to strip her, to sink inside her. But he also wanted to protect her, reassure her, promise her that all of the horrible things she had endured in the past—shit even worse than he’d suspected—would never befall her again.
He swallowed as he set his discarded clothes on his nearby rocking chair. Laila just wanted to sleep, and he’d better get his shit together. “Comfortable?”
Shyly, she nodded. “Very. Show me how you prefer to have your clothes laundered in the morning, and I will take care of the rest.”
Because a freaking ratty-ass shirt couldn’t be free. “Sure.”
She bit her lip and wrung her hands. “You have a nice room. Cozy.”
“Thanks. Here.” He turned on the ambient lighting above his crown molding and turned off the overhead cans, plunging the room into a hazy dim. It felt soft and golden. Intimate.
Laila looked up, seeming to marvel at the muted illumination around her. “I have never seen anything like this.”
No shit. If she’d only ever lived in a run-down farmhouse and a drug lord’s bunker, there were a lot of things she hadn’t seen or experienced. “It’s nice when I’m getting ready for bed. Helps to prevent stubbing my toe in the dark.”
“You have done that?”
“More times than I want to admit.” He smiled to set her at ease.
“I am sure your toes appreciate the improvement.” She gave him a ghost of a smile in return. “I left my clothes folded on your bathroom counter. I hope that is all right.”
“Fine.” He crossed the room to the bed, tossed off the checked decorative pillows, then folded back the heavy comforter. “I’ll…um, give you the left side of the bed. You’ll be closer to the bathroom, just in case.” And he would be between her and every avenue of escape.
“Thank you.” She padded past him slowly, her eyes all over him.
Because she was afraid he would put his hands on her? Or because she wanted him to? Trees couldn’t answer that question as she climbed between his sheets and laid her head on his pillow, wrapping her arms around herself and curling into a ball.
“You cold?”
“I will be fine.”
He glowered at her. “That isn’t what I asked. Are you cold?”
She nodded.
“All you had to do was say so.” Trees reached for the remote in his nightstand drawer and pressed the button. His electric fireplace snapped on, the hiss of blowing air soon distributing warmth through the room. He preferred to sleep cold since he put off heat like a furnace, but he would live with a little extra warmth tonight if it made Laila happy. “That should warm up the place quickly.”
She sat up and gaped at the faux flames. “It looks like a real fire. I have never seen anything like that, either.”
“It’s nice ambiance with a little bit of warmth when I need it.”
Laila nodded, then settled back onto her pillow with a contented sigh.
“Good night, little one.”
She didn’t say anything, simply curled up like a cat again and closed her eyes, long lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks.
He should stop staring, but he couldn’t do it. He just wanted to drink in everything about her—the little baby curls around her hairline that framed her face, the hint of roses in her cheeks, the full lips that beckoned him whether she smiled or frowned, the delicate hands that clutched the blanket under her chin protectively.
In the real world, if he wasn’t her bodyguard, she would never have looked twice at him. Trees knew he was a big brute without an ounce of polish. He was from “flyover” country. He hadn’t finished college. Hell, he hadn’t had running water most of his childhood. He lacked Zy’s charisma, good looks, pedigree, and charm. Sure, he appealed to some women, but most were subs who wanted his gentle but firm discipline, not his handsome face or sparkling personality.
And Laila might be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Graceful. Sensual. Stunning. What the fuck did she see in him? Safety? Or was her seeming acceptance of the comfort of his bed another ruse?
Beside him, she shivered and scooted closer. Even from two feet away, he felt the chill of her feet.
“You want another blanket?” He had a quilt in the closet.
She gave him a drowsy-eyed glance. “No.”
Then she inched closer.
Shit if that didn’t make him harder.
With a sigh, he plucked his phone from his nightstand and checked in with one of his online prepper groups. Yeah, all his friends thought he was crazy, bracing now for the erosion of society into anarchy. When chaos ensued and there was no such thing as a supply chain anymore, he’d be set for years—and everyone else would be shit out of luck.
He tried to focus on the community chatter. Live below your means. Duh. Store water in collapsible containers. Double duh. Don’t store all supplies on one place. So fucking obvious. No wonder he was way more aware of Laila stretching beside him before balling up again, this time even closer.