Chapter 9 #2
I take a breath, trying to keep my voice at a tone that doesn’t sound demanding.
“You’ll get a better night’s sleep in there.
The window’s double insulated, and it’s got a blackout curtain.
Out here, you’ll hear all the birds, and there’s those.
” I point to the windows up in the arched ceiling where the sun pours in in the morning.
She still hasn’t moved, so I do what I never thought I’d do. I resort to pleading.
“Please, just take the bed, Sasha. I’ll sleep better if you do.”
I think it’s that part that finally has her shoulders sagging. Or maybe it’s the sight of the big, inviting shaker bed through the bedroom door. “Fine. But only because it’s just for a night.”
“Two nights.”
Maybe more.
She moves toward the bedroom. “I’ll make breakfast.”
I don’t tell her she’ll have a hell of a time doing that without any food, but I’m too busy being relieved she’s finally giving in. I really will rest easier knowing there’s only one door and I’m going to be two feet from it.
“So…” She yawns, stretching enough that a strip of skin shows where her shirt lifts from her pants.
I busy myself with the sheets.
“Do you have anything for me to sleep in? Or should I just go for bra and underwear?”
I cough, even though I have nothing to cough on.
She has the nerve to grin, the mood in the room suddenly shifting.
My ears burning, I stride past her into the bedroom, yanking open a drawer and finding a T-shirt.
She follows me.
My jaw ticks, but I hand her the neatly folded shirt. “You want pants?” The shirt is going to go down to her knees.
“Nah. How about a toothbrush?”
“I’ll leave one on the counter for you.” I need to get out of her vicinity. I go to move to the door, but there’s not much room between the end of the bed and the dresser, and she’s blocking the way.
“Oh…sorry,” she says, moving only a little.
I edge past her, but I’m still close enough that I can smell the soft floral scent of her shampoo. Worse, she shifts at the last moment, trying to give me space, and the back of my hand brushes her hip.
“Sorry,” I grunt as I pass. But just that simple touch sends heat spreading through my lower half. Dangerous heat I don’t need, especially when I’ve been trying not to think about her in any way except for a job.
“Griffin?” She places a hand on my forearm, sending more heat shooting through my whole goddamned body.
“Yes,” I say as if confirming. I don’t meet her eye. I can’t. I’ll say something stupid.
Instead, I focus on a mole I never noticed before. It’s on her forehead, just below her hairline. I wonder, asininely, what it would feel like to kiss her there. To run my hands through that silky hair.
“Thank you.”
I grimace, forcing my eyes to meet hers.
When our eyes lock, my heart leaps to my throat.
She looks contrite, but I still see that strength there.
That defiance. It should be irritating—when clients don’t follow our recommendations, bad things happen.
But I realize in that moment it’s what I like about her.
That refusal to be boxed up. The dance of life in her eyes.
“Thank you for not tearing up that card.”
She laughs, the sound so unexpected it threatens to tug at the corner of my mouth. But I don’t let it. I move away from her so I can get my head back on straight.
After a quick shower, teeth brushed, I’m on the couch, extremely ready to knock off. But I’m not going to fall asleep until I’m sure Sasha has.
Meanwhile, she’s gone back and forth to the bathroom approximately twelve times, then to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. I should have thought of that—it’s been a long time since I had someone over.
But holy hell, would the woman just go to sleep already?
It’s not until she closes the bedroom door—and promptly opens it again—that I sit up, irritation rumbling.
“Sasha. You okay?”
“Yes,” she whispers from the bedroom, the springs creaking as she gets back on the bed.
“What do you need?”
She hesitates. “I can’t sleep.”
My chest clenches. Fuck. She’s scared. Of course she’s scared. What a fucking day. “How can I help?”
“I just…I think I might sleep better if you were closer.”
My stomach flips like a teenager’s. Calm the fuck down, boy.
“Uh, I could sleep on the floor in there,” I offer. It wouldn’t be difficult—I’ve slept on worse.
“Seriously?”
I frown. “That wouldn’t work?”
“You could just be a grown-up and sleep in the bed.”
“Sasha, I—”
“I’m not going to come onto you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t worry.”
She makes a sound I can’t interpret. “You know what? It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” She disappears into the shadows of the room.
I don’t move.
Then I feel like an ass. I’m a grown man. And she’s been through hell.
I get up and walk over to the other side of the bed.
I can hardly see her in the dark, so I’m not sure if she knows I’m there. “Sasha?”
The bed shifts.
“I just want you to feel safe.”
“I know,” she whispers.
My heart beats a hair faster.
“It’s a big bed,” she says.
She’s right. It is. Before I can change my mind, I flip back the covers and lie down. It’s only after I grasp the sheet that I realize I’m not wearing a shirt. I go to get up, but she whispers, “Thank you.”
She says it as if this is some kind of hardship.
“You don’t have to keep saying that,” I say.
“I want to.”
I relax slightly, trying to close my eyes.
But it’s impossible to fully relax with her only inches from me now, knowing there’s only the thin layer of cotton of her T-shirt between us.
I curse the hormones making my whole body tense. Do not think about her like that, you fuck. Not after what she’s been through.
“This is better, right?” she whispers.
It does feel better having her within arm’s reach for safety purposes. But it’s doing a fucking number on that effort to keep my feelings out of this. “Yes,” I manage, not convinced.
She’s quiet so long I think she might have fallen asleep.
Eyes adjusted to the dark, I turn my head to see if her eyes are closed.
They are. She’s curled on her side, her face toward me. I’m just trying to determine whether she’s asleep when she whispers, “Griff?”
Shit. I look back at the ceiling. “Yes.”
“Every time I close my eyes, I see him.”
My heart twists, and, too concerned for her to think better of it, I turn all the way to face her. I don’t know if she’s talking about Creelman or the man who came for her. It doesn’t matter. “It’s normal.”
“I should never have agreed to that date. He just—Sam said it was life or death. What if now—”
“Sasha. Did you talk to your brother after that…night?” I can’t bring myself to say date.
Her eyes open, meeting mine. “Just by text. He heard about the fire. Not that he seemed all that concerned about my safety.”
“He’s alive.”
“What, my brother? Yes, he’s alive.”
“So it’s not life or death.” At least not yet. But I don’t say that last part out loud.
“I guess.”
“You’re alive, too.”
I hear the faint click of her mouth, like she’s swallowing. “Yes.”
There are any number of things I could say.
Platitudes Lionel’s ex-wife had framed all over their house.
Constructive ideas from the psych at McCrae I’ve heard a hundred times.
Instead, I hesitate for only a second before reaching out and taking her hand from where it curls under her chin.
I press it to my shoulder, setting aside all my own feelings.
“I’m this far away. If you wake up in the night, I’m right here. ”
“Can you stay here all night?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t leave me alone?”
It’s funny, with a family as big as ours, I always had people around me.
And until this moment, I thought I always wanted to be alone.
But I never really did. And I never really was.
They were always there for me. Still are.
What would it feel like not to have that?
Not to be able to count on the ones you love the most?
“I won’t leave you alone,” I say, my voice rough.
I let her go but leave her hand where it is, giving her the option to retract it.
She drops her hand, and my shoulder aches with the loss of it.
But then her hand snakes out across the mattress, sliding under mine where it rests. “Goodnight, Griff.”
I close my hand around hers. It feels so small and soft, but it fits perfect under my palm.
“Goodnight, Angel,” I whisper, long after she’s fallen asleep.