When I heard her muffled cry, I couldn’t hold back. I rushed into her room to find her terrified. It’s like I went on autopilot, my mind shorting out as my instincts took hold. I had to comfort her, protect her, even from something as stupid as a light going out in her bathroom.
“I’m sorry I got so freaked out,” she murmurs.
“It’s okay.” I kick my door open and carry her inside, then place her on my bed.
She swallows hard and looks up at me, our lips close for a moment before I back away. Those little moments are going to end with me between her thighs if I’m not careful. And I’m already tired of being careful when it comes to this redheaded pistol.
“I’m just being paranoid. At least IthinkI am.” She wrinkles her brow.
“Look, I know you’re scared because of the thing you wrote about the—well, whatever it was about. Assholes in Hollywood or whatever. But you’re safe here.”
“Here in the lodge orhere?” She glances around my room.
“Both.” I shrug.
“There have been plenty of assassins trying to bust into this place ever since Aurora arrived.” She arches a brow. “I’m not sure how safe—”
“It’s safe.” I smirk. “How many of those assassins made it out alive?”
She inhales deeply. “Fair point.”
God, she looks like a fucking treat. Loose T-shirt, mussed hair, no makeup. I wonder if she’s even wearing shorts or panties or what if she’s bare under the—Concentrate.
“I’ll sack out on the sofa over here. You take the bed.” I turn and stride to the sofa and yank off a few pillows, tossing them to the floor. I should be in the bed with her. I’m certain I could distract her from her worries with my tongue, my fingers, and my cock. But that’s just me indulging the predator inside. That’s not who I am anymore. Or at least that’s not the main part of who I am.
When I reach behind my back and pull my shirt over my head, she makes a sound.
I turn and find her staring at my back, her lips slightly parted. Fuck. That mouth is begging to be kissed, to be explored. She’s got me forgetting everything I’ve been telling myself about staying away from her. I want to taste her, to hear her moan when she comes. But that’s not what this is about. I need to remember that letting her get close to me is a death sentence. Says the guy who just carried Daphne to his room and placed her in his bed. Did I mention how fucked I am?
Taking my pants off isn’t an option given the fact that my erection is raging at the moment, so I don’t bother. I’ll spend the night on the couch where I can keep my instincts in check.
She clears her throat as I drop onto the sofa and yank the throw blanket down onto my legs. “Tiernan. Is that an Irish name?”
Oh, shit. Here we go.
“Yeah.” I stare at the ceiling, even though I’m desperate to watch her. Whenever she’s in a room with me, I can’t look at anyone else. I can barely string a sentence together. She’s got my insides twisted up, and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. Because she’s forbidden fruit, a dangerous prize wrapped up in a red bow.
I hear the bed shift and the whisper of my sheets. When I break and look over, she’s snuggled up on my pillow, her nose against it as she inhales.
Why is that so hot? Does she like how I smell? I like how she smells. It’s like a citrusy vanilla, something that makes me think of sunsets. I roll my eyes at myself. I sound like a lovesick idiot. Sunsets? If I ever say that shit out loud, I’m going to punch myself right in the fucking face.
I glance at the bathroom and realize I left the light on. Getting up, I stride over to it and flick it off.
“Don’t,” she gasps.
My hackles rise, and I flip it back on while peering around the room for threats. “What is it?”
“It’s just I, um … It’s just that …”
“I’ll leave it on.” I walk back to my sofa and settle in.
She lets out a long breath. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed, but she doesn’t need to be.
“My little sister Val was always scared of the dark.” I glance at her. “Not saying you are, just saying she always was. We’d be in our separate rooms as kids, late at night. Sometimes we’d hear noises from downstairs, the adults doing their deals or whatever. She’d get scared and run to my room. She was so small, and her feet were always like ice.” I smile at the memories. “She hated the way her room was set up, the way she couldn’t see the hall or bathroom lights from her bed. Anyway, she’d get into bed with me, and I’d tell her stories until she fell asleep. Safe. She did that until she was about thirteen or so, and then she snuck out enough that she started to like the dark. Good for hiding.”
“I wish I could like the dark.” Her voice is soft and sleepy.
I want to crawl up in bed beside her, hold her, and tell her there’s nothing to fear. But that would be a lie. My past proves that I’m not a good man, not a man that could ever convincingly reassure a woman like Daphne that there aren’t evil things that go bump in the night. After all, I’m one of them.