Chapter 8 #2
"Good girl." The words came out before I could stop them, warm with approval, and I watched her look away again. Watched her eyes flutter slightly at the praise. "Now, before you lie down, when's the last time you used the bathroom?"
Her eyes went wide, and the flush that had been fading came roaring back with a vengeance. "I—what?"
"The bathroom, Marie.” I tried not to smile at her obvious mortification. "You haven't been since before you found me last night, have you?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked away as her lips pursed. "I... no. But I don't need to.”
"Your body's been running on adrenaline," I cut in reasonably. "Now that you're safe and resting, everything's going to catch up with you. Trust me, darling, you should go before you fall asleep."
She bit her lip, clearly trying to decide if she could argue with me, and I watched the moment she realized I was right.
"I... I’ll go.”
"There you go.” I stood and offered her my hand. "Come on. I'll help you."
"Help me?" Her voice pitched higher. "I can—I don't need help going to the bathroom.”
"Relax," I mused, a smile tugging at my lips. "I meant to help you get there. You're exhausted and injured. The bathroom's right through here."
I gestured to the ensuite bathroom door, and she stared at it like she hadn't noticed it before. Which, given the way she refused to relax, she probably hadn't.
She took my hand gingerly, and I helped her slide off the bed, steadying her when she wobbled slightly. "Thank you."
I kept my hand on her back as we crossed to the bathroom, guiding her carefully. The ensuite was large and luxurious, and I flicked on the light as we entered.
"There you go," I murmured, reluctantly releasing her arm. "Take your time. I'll be right here.”
She turned to look at me in the doorway, her dark eyes wide and uncertain, and I saw the exact moment she realized I was still standing there.
Her hand shot out, and she quickly shut the door in my face.
I heard the lock click a second later.
A soft chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. She was absolutely adorable when she was flustered—wide eyes and pouty cheeks with that endearing mix of shyness and determination.
Traumatized and exhausted, she had enough fire to shut a door in the face of the billionaire who owned it because she needed privacy.
I'd have loved to help her further. To be the one to care for her every need, every comfort, but it was far too early for that. She barely knew me, barely trusted me yet, and I wasn't about to push for more than she was ready to give.
Not when I had every intention of keeping her for the long term. I could be patient. I was very good at being patient when the prize was worth it.
And Marie was certainly worth it.
I heard the toilet flush, then water running in the sink.
There was a long pause—probably her catching sight of herself in the mirror, seeing the exhaustion and stress written all over her face.
I wished I could be in there with her, washing her hands for her, tucking her hair back, telling her she was safe.
Soon, but not yet.
The lock clicked again, and the door opened slowly. She peeked out first, like she was checking to make sure I was still there, and when our eyes met, she gave me a shy, slightly embarrassed smile.
"Better?" I asked.
"Yes. Thank you." Her voice was quiet. "For... everything. Not just the bathroom. Everything."
"You don't need to thank me." I offered my arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. "Come on. Let's get you into bed before you fall asleep standing up."
I guided her back to the bed, and she climbed in with movements that were slow and careful. The exhaustion was really hitting her now—her eyelids kept trying to close, and her body seemed to sink into the mattress like it was the first comfortable thing she'd touched in years.
It probably was.
"Lie down," I urged gently, pulling the white sheets up over her. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."
She settled back against the pillows with a soft sigh, and I tucked the sheets around her shoulders with a care I usually reserved for people I'd known for years, not hours.
But somehow, with Marie, hours felt like enough. It felt like I'd been waiting for her specifically, and now that I'd found her, I wasn't letting go.
I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting near hers on the sheets. Close enough to touch if she needed it, far enough to give her space. This was a test of patience I was certain to pass. I wouldn’t need to touch her to know she was mine.
Her eyes were already drifting closed, exhaustion finally winning over adrenaline and determination.
She fell asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out, her face finally relaxing from the constant tension she'd been carrying. I stayed there, watching her sleep, studying the curve of her cheek, her hair spread across the pillow, the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
She was thirty-two years old, fifteen years younger than me. Young enough that I should probably feel guilty about the thoughts I was having, about how my chest tightened when she got shy, about how badly I needed to keep her safe and protected.
But I'd stopped apologizing for what I wanted decades ago. And what I wanted, more than anything, was now in my guest bedroom, sleeping off trauma, and trusting me to save nineteen women.