Chapter Fifteen #3
Kayne stepped toward her, slow and certain. “I know you are. Being afraid doesn’t make you weak.”
“I hate needing anyone.”
“I know that too,” he said gently. “And I hate that somebody’s making you feel alone in this.”
He reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed hers, warm and careful. “Chloe,” he said softly, “you’re allowed to lean on me.”
Her pulse fluttered. His voice did that to her. It made safety sound like temptation.
She inhaled. “About earlier with Danica. She was being Danica. I know she made things awkward.”
His jaw flexed once. “Cher, your sister flirting with me is like a Chihuahua barking at a freight train. Loud, persistent, and entirely ignorable.”
Chloe snorted, surprised laughter bubbling up. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m honest.”
Silence drifted between them again, edged with something electric.
She lifted her eyes to his. “We should talk about the kiss yesterday.”
His expression sharpened with intent. “Do you regret it?” he asked.
“No.” The word came out before she could second-guess it.
Kayne stepped in until the heat of him swirled around her, until she could smell faint cedar and the day’s adrenaline still clinging to him. “Good,” he murmured.
Her breath hitched because he was close, but he wasn’t touching her. She desperately wanted him to.
He lifted his hand slowly, giving her every chance to back away, and ran his fingers down her cheek. “I’ve been tryin’ real hard to be respectful,” he said, his voice a low velvet rumble. “But every time you look at me like you’re lookin’ right now . . .”
Her heart stuttered.
“. . . it gets a whole lot harder.”
She wasn’t sure who moved first, maybe both of them simultaneously, but suddenly his mouth brushed hers, soft and tentative, a kiss that asked a question instead of taking an answer.
Her fingers tightened into his shirt.
His hand slid to her jaw.
The kiss deepened in a slow, aching sweep. Heat bloomed under her skin, fear dissolving beneath something far more dangerous. Something she wanted too badly to name.
He pulled back just enough to breathe against her lips. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”
She didn’t.
Instead, her forehead rested against his, her whisper feathering between them. “Don’t.”
His next kiss wasn’t tentative. Not at all. It was explosive, toxic, and utterly mind-blowing, as if he’d been holding himself together by sheer will and finally let go.
And the world of stalkers, break-ins, and hidden cameras fell away until there was only this moment. Only this heat, and the terrifying, impossible, undeniable certainty that she was falling for the man risking everything to keep her standing.
#
The house had gone quiet. Even the walls seemed to be holding their breath. Somewhere downstairs, Anja was asleep, and Kayne probably was too. The heater hummed, keeping the house comfortably warm, a steady sound meant to reassure.
Chloe couldn’t sleep.
Her pulse was still unsteady from that kiss—God, that kiss—and from the adrenaline that had been living under her epidermis for days. She lay curled on top of the covers of her bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to every creak and groan of the house until every sound felt like a threat.
This was ridiculous. She was fine.
A whisper of fear slid down her spine.
She wasn’t fine.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped out of bed, tiptoed down the short hallway, and stopped outside Kayne’s door. Light spilled beneath it. He wasn’t asleep.
She lifted her hand and knocked with two quick taps before she could stop herself.
The door opened almost instantly, and she wondered if he’d been standing on the other side. Kayne’s expression shifted from alert to concern in half a second, his body already angling toward hers in a way that said “here” before he even spoke.
“Chloe?” His voice was laced with that Cajun drawl that made her knees threaten to betray her. “Everythin’ all right?”
No. Yes. Maybe. None of the answers made sense.
She tugged the cotton sleeve of her T-shirt. “Can I come in?”
He stepped aside without hesitation, giving her space without crowding her. “You need somethin’, cher?” he asked gently.
Her throat tightened. She shouldn’t ask. She absolutely should not ask. But the words pushed forward anyway.
“Can you—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
He went very still. Not tense. Just focused, as if he was weighing her need against his own instincts to protect her from everything, himself included.
“You mean in your room?”
She nodded, mortified and stubborn all at once. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Kayne watched her face, giving her every chance to change her mind. When she didn’t flinch, he cupped a hand lightly around her elbow. “You want me to hold you?”
She hated the vulnerability of it. Hated how much she needed it. “Yes.”
He studied her for a long moment, reading all the places she was trying, and failing, to keep herself together. Then he nodded once, decisive and gentle all at the same time.
“Of course.”
Kayne lay down first, deliberately staying above the covers, marking invisible boundary lines only he could see. He draped one arm along the pillow and waited, not saying a word.
She made the choice anyway.
Chloe tucked in beside him, her head settling against his shoulder, her body fitting into the line of his as if it had been quietly practicing for this moment all along. His warmth wrapped around her instantly, steady and solid in a way nothing else had been since this nightmare began.
His arm came around her then, firm enough to support her, but gentle enough not to trap. He understood the difference mattered.
Her eyes prickled without warning. She squeezed them shut, annoyed at herself.
“Cher,” he murmured, voice a gravel-soft rumble. “You’re safe.”
“I’m not scared,” she whispered into his shirt.
He huffed a quiet breath against her hair. “You are, and it’s okay.”
She swallowed. Her fingers tightened in the fabric at his pecs, afraid he might drift away if she didn’t hold on. “I don’t want to be.”
“Doesn’t matter what you want,” he said mildly, brushing a thumb along her shoulder in lazy, comforting strokes. “Fear doesn’t listen worth a damn. You’re allowed to feel it. Doesn’t make you weak.”
The words sank deep. Deeper than she’d expected or was prepared for.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m using this as an excuse to . . .” She gestured vaguely, mortified. “You know.”
His chest shook with a quiet laugh rumbling through her cheek. “Cher, if I thought this was an invitation, you’d already be naked and needy.”
She snorted before she could stop herself, the sound muffled against him. “You’re terrible.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed. “And you’re exhausted.”
She was. Bone-deep. Shaken and frayed and stuck in that awful after-space where the adrenaline had burned off and left nothing behind but tremors and truth.
Kayne’s hand continued its slow, steady circles against her back. “Go on,” he murmured. “Sleep. I got you.”
Her voice came out smaller than she liked. “Don’t let go.”
He tightened his arm around her, just a fraction. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
She breathed him in. Cedar, warm cotton, and something unmistakably Kayne. Her eyelids grew heavy within minutes. She felt safe. The realization alone was enough to undo her.
Right before sleep claimed her, she whispered, barely there, “Thank you.”
Kayne pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Anytime, cher.”
She slept in his arms while he stayed wide awake. She knew he had eyes on the shadows and was committed to fighting the world if it so much as considered touching her again.