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Something whispers to me in the back of my mind, a niggling thought that I can’t quite catch; it murmurs that I am missing something. Something that’s very obvious.
But what?
I know that this attack wasn’t about Eve’s receptionist.
No, the goal wasn’t to physically harm Eve; it was to torment her.
With Henry taking over the investigation, the detectives would be more vigilant and thorough, but I know of another person who might prove to be helpful.
My thumb hovers over Elijah’s name in my contact list.
Maybe not now.
I put my phone to the side.
Not him.
Not yet.
Nearly an hour passed as I sat in the armchair, working through my thoughts.
I got up to check on Mila.
I looked in on Eve as well and saw her form huddled under the blanket, and a thrill of pleasure rushed through me at the sight, soothing the raging inferno inside me that someone dared to come after my woman.
For now, my family is safe in my fortress, and I’d rip anyone apart with my bare hands who sought to harm them.
It is the sound of the soft knock that has me looking up, sharply.
Eve stands in the doorway, the door slightly ajar behind her, the light from the hallway spilling into the dimly lit room, her hands tugging at the shirt that she wears. I recognize it as one of mine. It is a button up and she didn’t do up the bottom few buttons, flashing my boxers that she also decided to wear.
My mouth goes dry at the image she presents, her long hair up in a loose bun with strands falling out, her standing in my clothing that swallows her curvy frame.
“What is it?” I wonder if I have water in the room or if I will have to go get some the kitchen.
“I can’t sleep.”
I blink at her words, the hesitance in them, a strange fear, as if she doesn’t quite trust herself.
I choose my words carefully. “How can I help?”
Her fingers clutch at the bottom of the shirt, and she takes a step backward. “Never mind. This is a dumb idea.”
I don’t give her the chance to leave as I stride over and close the door before she can pull it open and slip out. That action also has me looming over her, her hand against her head as she leans against the door.
“Eve.”
My eyes study her, watching the flush that creeps up her neck, the way her eyes look confused and soft in a way that tells me more than her words could.
She wants someone to hold her.
But I need her to say it.
A few minutes in and I know she can’t ask for it.
Giving up control isn’t something she is able do, so I take her hand and tug her. “Come on.”
She follows me to the bed, silently.
