At her direction, he found the right key, turned the knob and walked into her home. Kinga inhaled the warm air and the subtle scent of fresh flowers and beeswax polish. This was her safe place, her sanctuary. She relaxed immediately. Nobody could hurt her here.
Exhaustion washed over her in a steady wave.
She glanced over to her still open door, tasted panic again—Mick’s furious face popped up on the screen of her mind—and reminded herself that he wouldn’t be foolish enough to follow her home, to push his case. Besides, right now she had her very own, very brawny bodyguard. Not wanting to lose this sense of security, she rested her head against Griff’s wet chest and sighed. She’d take being wet above being scared any day of the week.
Kinga felt his lips in her hair before he loosened his grip on her and allowed her feet to drop to the floor. He gently lowered her to sit on the closest sofa and dropped to his haunches again, concerned. “Better? Want some tea or something?”
He ran his hand around the back of his neck and Kinga realized that he was wetter and colder than she’d thought. His jeans were dark with rain, his hair was slicked back and his lips held a tinge of blue. “You should get out of those wet clothes,” she suggested, her voice still weak.
His lips quirked. “Are you trying to get me naked, sweetheart?”
His teasing made her smile. “I’m trying to ensure that you don’t get hypothermia, O’Hare.”
Kinga yawned and she covered her mouth with her hand. Then she yawned again.
“Exhaustion often follows an extreme panic attack. Let’s get you to bed.”
Kinga wanted to make a joke, say something witty and funny but couldn’t muster the mental strength to think of anything. She just wanted to sleep. But the door was open and anyone could walk inside...
“Can you shut the door, hit the locks when you leave?” she asked, and cursed the tremor in her voice. Despite knowing how weak she sounded, she couldn’t stop her next sentence. “Will you check, and check again, that I’m locked in?”
Griff’s face hardened. “At some point, we’re going to have a chat about what’s got you so scared, Kinga.” Then his expression lightened and Kinga noticed that his eyes were as warm as the hand cradling her cheek was cold. “Would you sleep better if I stayed here?”
She wanted to brush away his offer, tell him she was an independent woman, that she could take care of herself. But her actions tonight completely negated that statement, and she would sleep better knowing he was within shouting distance.
Why was she so comfortable with him?
“Kinga, do you want me to stay?”
She wanted to lie, to tell him to go, but she was too tired to make the effort. “Yes, please.”
She’d deal with the consequences of her impulsive decision in the morning. Because, as she knew, every action had consequences.
The next morning, after a night spent in her spare bedroom, Griff used Kinga’s espresso machine to deliver a much-needed hit of caffeine. Taking his cup back to the living room, he decided to satisfy his curiosity and picked up the heavy silver frame Kinga had turned to face the wall.
It was a perfectly normal photograph of Kinga—much younger, with long, braided hair—and a dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, both beaming at the camera. They wore beanies and huge smiles, and there was nothing in the photograph to explain why she couldn’t look at it.
He was now more curious than he’d been before.
Not good.
Griff heard footsteps on the stairs, replaced the photograph and walked over to the window to pull back the drapes. The weather was continuing its dismal streak. The rain and snow had stopped but the clouds were low in the sky, as if deciding whether to dump more moisture on the already soaked land.
“Morning.”
Griff turned to look at Kinga, dressed in black jeans and a black cashmere sweater under a black-and-white houndstooth jacket. Trendy black-and-white sneakers covered her feet. He sighed at her don’t-ask-me expression but was unable to get her pale, terrified face out of his mind. He was so used to Kinga’s quick mouth and her in-your-face attitude, and seeing her vulnerability last night had shaken him.
What in God’s name could’ve happened to cause his alpha boss girl to have a panic attack? Not for the first, or fiftieth, time he wondered what Kinga was hiding behind her I-can-do-anything-and-be-anything facade?
“You’re looking better,” Griff told her.
Kinga sent him a wry smile. “I could hardly look any worse.”
Griff watched as she made herself coffee, waiting for an explanation he knew wouldn’t come. He leaned against the state-of-the-art gas cooker, crossing his legs at the ankles.
After giving her a minute or two to get some caffeine into her system, he spoke again.
“Do you get panic attacks often?”