Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
Grumbling, my girl pushes a finger into my sternum.
“I now know what the walk of shame is. Or I will. Very soon.”
I hide my grin as I kiss her cheek. “Get some sleep, baby. Don’t worry about Walton. He’s not going to be pissed, I’ll buy him a new bed.”
She gives me a look that could melt glass. “He’s some kind of trained killer, Justice, he might decide that’s a fatal offense. What if it was like his grandmother’s bed or something?”
This time, I’m trying to suppress a laugh because I know it will only make her more upset. “If it is, we’ll put flowers on her grave or something.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she mutters, burying her nose in my chest with a pitiful moan. “I don’t know if I can go down there.”
“Want me to lower you out the window?”
“Can you?” She perks up, looking at me hopefully.
God. My damned heart cannot take this woman.
I tuck her close. Pulling the blanket off the floor over us where we’re lying on the mattress. Which is now on the floor.
It took some work, but I managed it without getting off the bed. Kind of like riding a raft behind a boat.
Rosalie was laughing, covering her face the whole time.
“You’re not right,” she finally chuckles into my neck.
I slide my fingers into her hair. Just soaking in her warmth. “I warned you.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then she sighs. “Thank you.”
“What for, babe?”
“Just being so…dominant. I needed to let go.”
There’s a burr in my throat. I felt bad about taking her so rough, but…
“I needed that too,” I admit.
She wiggles closer, slipping her leg between mine. “I feel so safe with you. I didn’t realize how unsafe I felt before you.”
For a long beat I stare at the ceiling.
“Thank you,” I whisper, words coarse with emotions as I glide fingers sliding up and down her back.
God, if you’re out there. I need backup.
“I’m so sleepy now,” she says, finishing with a tiny yawn.
“Drift off, honey. I’ve got you.”
Sometime later I drift off too. Not sure how, when all I could do as I stared at the ceiling was think about an assassin plying his trade.
Circling. For my woman.
When I wake up, I’m disoriented, cold sweat beaded on my face. Where am I?
Fuck.
“Rosalie?”
The door’s open.
I grab my gun, taking the stairs by storm.