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One hand lifted to splay across my back, and I felt his scruffy chin against my hair. “You’re safe, baby. I swear it. If anyone so much as comes near you, I’ll kill them.”
That really shouldn’t have made me feel safe.
It did.
Still trembling, I burrowed into him, pushing my face into the base of his neck and breathing in the scent my body associated with home.
As it filled my senses, the warmth from his skin soaked into my cold face, and the hard knot of his bobbing Adam’s apple was physical proof he was strong.
Cold air rushed around us, tugging at my hair and sneaking beneath it to tap against my neck. The darkness seemed to intensify, and I arched into Ben even more.
He stroked my hair, fingers getting tangled in the uncombed strands. “There was just some sort of accident in the kitchen,” he murmured, rubbing against the base of my skull. “The smoke alarm they have back there went off. Everything’s okay, though.”
A shudder moved through me as his words filtered in. The sharp claws of panic retracted enough for me to think.
Against his neck, I said, “It was a kitchen accident?”
“Yeah. Someone’s probably gonna get fired.”
Was that amusement in his voice? “This is not funny, Benjamin!”
“Ooh, bringing out the full name.”
“I can’t remember your middle name,” I mourned.
“It’s Hayes.”
That brought my head up. And even though it was dark, I still blinked against the light. “Your middle name is Hayes?”
His nod was decisive. “Go ahead and yell at me if it will make you feel better.”
“You were laughing at me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Like hell I was. I was laughing at the poor schmuck who’s about to get fired.”
I realized then that we were outside on the sidewalk. The brick building of Pizza House was at Ben’s back as he stood facing the street.
“You carried me outside,” I observed, glancing down at our bodies and how I was wrapped around him.
“It was loud, and you didn’t feel safe in there.”
I grimaced. “I panicked.”
“That’s okay.” His voice was sure. Like it really didn’t matter I’d just jumped in his lap in the middle of a dinner.
His two-toned stare was steady on mine, his demeanor calm and arms solid. There was no wavering in his attention, and he acted as if he had all the time in the world to stand there and hold me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, embarrassed, and dipped my chin toward my chest.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I acted like a freak and jumped on you.”
“I liked it.”
It wasn’t a joke. He didn’t smile mischievously. He didn’t wag his eyebrows lasciviously. Instead, he looked me directly in the eyes with nothing but honesty and said he liked it.
The hand still tangled in my hair scratched against my scalp, shooting tingles of awareness down my spine. “I hate that you got scared. I hate you feel unsafe.” He went on, his voice completely intoxicating. “But I gotta tell you, baby girl. I fucking love that you dove at me for protection.”
