Chapter 6 #2
Gavin was in the living room, sitting in a chair by the balcony doors, the city lights reflecting off his profile.
She hadn’t really noticed how good looking he was before now, and she couldn’t understand why.
The man was devastatingly handsome. Dark blond hair that was just a little long made her want to run her fingers through it to smooth it back from his face.
He had beautiful eyes and a strong profile.
His chin was strong, as was his jawline, and high cheekbones made him look both powerful and a bit aristocratic.
As did his aquiline nose and full, masculine lips.
He also had a lean musculature that made her mouth water.
He looked like a fitness model with all those dips and valleys revealed only occasionally by his clothes.
He hadn’t changed out of his work attire, but his jacket was draped over the couch.
The button-down shirt revealed more of his amazing biceps as he moved his arms and hinted at a washboard stomach that made her insides quiver in a whole new way.
But he wasn’t really moving. He was just sitting, though he had an intent, pensive look on his handsome face.
His gaze was distant, as if searching through his own thoughts.
Yet when her foot creaked against the floorboard, his head turned instantly.
His gaze met hers, glowing faintly in the low light.
“You should be resting,” he said quietly. Not scolding. He sounded concerned.
“I just…” She swallowed. “I wanted to see if you were still here.”
His expression softened, the faintest curve touching his lips. “I told you, you’re safe. I’ll be here all night. And every night, until I’m certain no one can touch you.”
Something inside her gave way. Not completely. She had too many scars for that. But enough. She nodded and drew back, returning to the bed.
When she curled up under the blankets, she carried the sound of his deep, resonant voice with her. Marigold closed her eyes and drifted to sleep without fear.
When Marigold woke the next morning, the first thing she noticed was the silence.
It wasn’t the tense, heavy silence of a Rollins mansion, thick with the threat of footsteps and slamming doors, but a gentle quiet broken only by the hum of the city far below.
She lay still for a moment, the soft sheets cocooning her.
When she finally stirred, she realized she’d slept deeply. Dreamlessly. The kind of rest she hadn’t known since childhood.
A faint sound reached her ears of movement in the kitchen. She sat up quickly, heart skipping, but then, she caught the low rumble of Gavin’s voice. He was humming.
Curiosity overrode nerves, and she padded barefoot down the hall. The sight that greeted her in the kitchen doorway made her pause.
Gavin stood at the stove in a plain T-shirt and dark joggers, barefoot, a spatula in one hand. The smell of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs filled the air. Coffee brewed in a sleek machine on the counter.
For a moment, Marigold couldn’t move. He looked less like a fierce warrior and more like something she’d only ever dreamed of—a man at home, cooking breakfast, safe and unhurried.
He turned, his gaze finding her instantly, and the corner of his mouth curved. “Morning, Goldie.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “You cook?”
“Don’t look so shocked.” He flipped the eggs with practiced ease. “The military didn’t exactly come with room service. I can manage the basics.”
The domesticity of it tugged at something deep in her chest. “It smells amazing.”
“Good.” He reached for a mug, poured steaming coffee, and set it on the counter. “Sit. Eat. That’s your only job today.”
She hesitated, then slid into one of the stools at the island. The rich scent of coffee curled around her, and she wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic, savoring it. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made a meal especially for her.
“You don’t have to—” she began.
“I do,” Gavin interrupted firmly, setting a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. “Not because you can’t. But because you deserve it.”
Her chest tightened. She looked down at the food, blinking quickly to clear the sting in her eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is,” he said, taking the seat beside her with his own plate. “You’re here. You’re safe. That’s enough for now.”
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. Marigold stole a glance at his broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, a jawline shadowed with stubble. Not just powerful. Solid. Reliable.
“Why are you being so kind to me?” she whispered, unable to hold the question back.
He set down his fork and turned to face her fully. “Because you’ve had enough cruelty to last a lifetime. And because something inside me says you’re meant to be here. With me. Until I figure out why, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Her heart stuttered. The intensity in his gaze should have frightened her, but instead, it steadied her. She didn’t feel weak. She felt oddly protected.
Marigold took another bite of eggs, more to steady herself than because she was still hungry. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring. But sitting across from Gavin Kinkaid, sharing breakfast like they were ordinary people, she let herself imagine a future where she belonged to herself.
And maybe, just maybe, to him.
After breakfast, Marigold could barely keep her eyes open. Gavin had seen the way she swayed when she tried to stand and didn’t give her a choice. He guided her back to the bedroom with quiet insistence, making sure she had water within reach and the blankets tucked close.
“Rest,” he’d said, that gravel-deep voice leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be here.”
Somehow, those three words had made it easier to close her eyes.
She drifted in and out for hours, her body greedily taking what it had been denied for years.
Once or twice, she woke to the muffled sound of Gavin’s voice down the hall—low, controlled, giving instructions she couldn’t quite make out.
Another time, she thought she heard the sharp scrape of a chair against the floor, followed by silence, as if he’d caught himself from slamming something in frustration.
Marigold curled tighter under the covers, torn between fear that her family was close and wonder at the strange peace she felt here.
No one came to check on her. No footsteps thundered in the hall.
No door slammed open to demand her compliance.
The quiet was foreign, but it was the kind of foreign she thought she could get used to.