Chapter 4 #2
“Confused,” she corrected, then shook her head. “Relieved, tired, anxious.”
I could see how she’d be all of those things.
But still…
“It’s okay to be scared,” I told her.
“So what happens now?”
Good fucking question .
I’d give her that play—for now. Then I was pushing her to talk to me about what was truly bothering her before the effects of being attacked in her own home took root and turned ugly.
“Now, you get some sleep.”
There was a long stretch of silence before she admitted, “I don’t know if I can sleep.”
“Have you slept in the last four days?”
Bridget’s lips twitched before they curved up into a smile that left me in a momentary daze.
“Is that code for I look like shit?”
I wasn’t sure she could look like shit. Even sleep deprived and disheveled she still looked beautiful.
“No, baby, it’s code for it’s late and tomorrow’s going to be a long day for you.”
Her mouth opened to say something but she quickly closed it and stood, gazing around the small hotel room.
“Okay. Where do you want me?”
Not only was her tone all wrong—defeated and by rote—but also her gaze darted around the room as if another bed was going to magically appear.
“What were you going to say?”
Instead of answering she focused on the stupid, fucking backpack and muttered something about getting changed.
“Look at me, Bridget.”
Slowly, her eyes lifted from studying her bag on the bed and fastened onto my gaze.
But now that I had her attention my mind blanked.
I’d forgotten everything I wanted to say.
My only thought circled around a feeling—a riot of emotions that had consumed me when I’d first met her and had not lessened over the time I’d spent with her—only to blister when I watched her get loaded into an SUV and whisked away from me.
A feeling I couldn’t name and I’d never understood.
“Theo?”
Jesus .
I needed to sort my shit and do it fast.
“You don’t need to guard yourself around me.”
“What?”
“You were going to say something,” I reminded her.
She didn’t bother denying it but neither did she say what was on her mind.
After a moment, disappointment flared and I jerked my chin toward the bathroom.
“Sorry, but I can’t leave the room. The bathroom’s going—”
“I was going to say,” she cut in but paused. “I was going to ask if it would be okay with you if you laid with me for a while. I don’t know if I can sleep.”
The area around my heart got tight and I fought to stay rooted and not pull her into my arms.
“I haven’t slept in days,” she finished on a whisper.
Something sharp pierced my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the fact I’d been right and she hadn’t slept since her attack or if it was because she’d trusted me with the truth.
There was a difference between her coming to me for help—knowing from experience I was good at my job and could keep her safe—and sharing something she very obviously didn’t want to admit.
Whatever her reason for confessing, it snapped my control and a battle ensued to keep my distance. The only way I was going to win the war was for her to physically remove herself from my presence.
“Go change, Bridget.”
Her head tipped ever so slightly, her eyes stayed glued to mine, and she asked, “Why do I feel like I’m being excused?”
Fuck .
I did my best to soften my tone and tried again. “Go change. Get comfortable and we’ll get you some rest.”
While I try to keep my hands to myself.
With a nod she picked up her backpack and headed for the bathroom.
As soon as the door clicked behind Bridget I let out a frustrated breath. Or was it an excited breath? Was this a sign? A second chance? Was this the universe’s way of giving her back to me?
What the fuck was wrong with me? Second chance, the universe? If I wasn’t careful I’d start believing in soulmates and fairy tales.
Unfortunately it didn’t take Bridget long to change, or so I thought. The door slowly opened and a moment later Bridget came back out in the same clothes she went in with.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have anything to wear,” she mumbled dejectedly.
“Come again?”
“I don’t have anything to sleep in.” She paused and her gaze glided to the bed. “At least not something appropriate to wear while we share a bed.”
To say my blood pressure skyrocketed would be a gross understatement.
“What exactly does that mean?”
It would seem I forgot Bridget had a temper that rivaled mine and when it flared, it flared .
“What exactly is your problem?”
Well, that was easy to answer.
“You’ve spent four days in hotels with Troy,” I reminded her. “What the fuck did you wear then?”
I’d forgotten about this, too—when Bridget got pissed her whole body became involved in the discussion. Her hands came up. One pointed at me, the other she planted on her hip, her neck craned forward, and she went off on me.
“What does Troy have to do with what I wear? Do you think I would sleep in a hotel room next to a man I don’t know? I mean, really, Theo, what kind of idiot do you take me for?”
Well, that’s a relief .
“You mean the man you don’t know that you want me to check in with?”
Some of Bridget’s irritation fled.
“Troy helped me and I do trust him as much as I can trust someone I’ve known for four days.
I can’t explain it, but he genuinely cares—not like he cares about me as Bridget, but he cares that a woman was attacked and he’s the kind of gentleman who wants to make sure that woman is okay.
I owe it to him to give him that peace of mind. He went out of his way to help me.”
Fuck, I couldn’t argue that. I got the same vibe from the man.
“For the record,” I began, trying to instigate damage control. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“Oh, so just a stupid, careless woman who would share a hotel room with a man she just—”
“You’re not that either,” I interrupted to stop her from spiraling. “I overreacted.”
Bridget’s shoulders jerked, her hand dropped, and her mouth twisted into a frown.
“You overreacted?”
Her question sounded more like she was muttering to herself than asking, yet I answered, “Yes. I overreacted. I should’ve known better.”
Her frown deepened and I was at a loss. I’d apologized. Was there something else I was supposed to do?
“I don’t know what to do with that,” she returned.
Now I was really lost.
I hadn’t had a woman in my life beyond Kira and Layla for over ten years. To say I was rusty would be a gross assessment of what I was.
“Forgive me for being a dick?” I suggested.
There was a beat of silence right before Bridget busted out laughing.
And I’d swear hearing that sound again filled my chest with the same stillness it had before.
It was like listening to her happiness was what I needed to quiet my mind, to put aside all the ugliness of the past decade and just be.
“I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I’m a little wound up.”
A little?
The poor woman had the year from hell.
Wisely, I didn’t bring that up and instead offered her a solution to her problem.
“Here,” I said as I started to unbutton my white dress shirt.
It wasn’t until half the buttons were undone and I was pulling the tails out of my slacks that Bridget spoke again.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you something to sleep in.”
Bridget wasn’t short but neither was she tall. She’d swim in my shirt.
“I can’t…”
When she didn’t finish I prompted, “You can’t what?”
“Sleep in your shirt.”
I shrugged the shirt off and held it out.
“Why not?”
“Why…not?”
It was then I saw where her eyes were aimed.
It was also then I realized my mistake. Further from that, it was very fucking unfortunate I was in dress pants and not jeans because if she didn’t stop staring at my chest like she wanted to take a long, slow lick the evidence of my appreciation was going to become very obvious.
It was with that in mind I walked my shirt to her.
“Here.”
“What will you wear?”
Damn, I’m an asshole .
As soon as Bridget took the shirt from my hand I stepped back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about you being uncomfortable with—”
“Uncomfortable?”
Good God, she was beautiful when she smiled.
“Yes, uncomfortable with me being shirtless,” I clarified.
Suddenly Bridget Keller morphed into the woman I suspected she was before she’d turned into a whistleblower and federal witness.
And when she did, it was me who was uncomfortable. Or at least I was the one who was in pain when my dick decided he really liked this version of Bridget.
“You don’t make me uncomfortable, Theo.”
It wasn’t the words she spoke; it was the teasing way she’d delivered them. It was the smirk on her kissable lips that made an innocent statement flirtatious.
Fuck. This wasn’t good. She needed time and I needed to figure out what was going on before this—whatever this was—went any further. I’d managed to push aside my feelings for her for months; I could do it again.
Maybe.
For a couple of days—at most.