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“Are you…are you coming back?” She hated the way her voice shook.
“Yes. Of course. I’ll be gone an hour. Two max.”
“Okay.” She nodded as much to agree as to reassure herself she’d be fine.
He started to step away and paused. “There are four locked doors between you and the outside. You’re safe here, Delaney.”
He didn’t wait for a response before stalking back out to the loft. She heard his footfalls on the stairs and the sound of the front door as it closed. Easing the bedroom door shut and locking it, she leaned back against it and heaved out a huge breath.
It was the adrenaline that had made her almost do something so stupid. She should never have come here in the first damn place. She should have called Addy or Clara or tried to find another motel. This was only temporary, staying here. She’d allow herself a day or two to find something else.
Or she could pack up and leave now. She had enough money to last her long enough to settle somewhere else. Remove the temptation to make terrible choices from her life completely.
She eyed the bed with its comforter and soft pillows. It smelled so clean, and it was so quiet. One night. She’d stay one night and then leave Philadelphia first thing in the morning. It was the only smart thing to do.
ChapterThirteen
James knew the moment she was awake. He was alerted by the sound of her feet on the floor just before the creak of her bedroom door and then the bathroom. He could hear the rush of water through the pipes when she turned on the shower.
She’d slept with the lights on. He saw the glow under her door when he got home from helping Brogan move some shit between rental properties. Why the hell they’d needed to do that at midnight, James would never understand. Brogan had repaid him by helping deal with the manager and his junkie friend who dared lay a hand on Delaney, leaving her bruised and terrified.
Neither one of them would ever bother another woman again, and she’d be none the wiser because there was no way in hell he was letting her go back to that place. She could stay here, or she could let him put her up in a nice hotel, but he would make sure she was safe.
He removed a waffle from the iron when it beeped and ladled in more batter as the shower stopped. The door creaked open, and he heard her dart across the hall before her door closed with a snap. Coffee was dripping through the pour over into a big mug when her feet padded down the stairs.
Her eyes were wide when she saw him in the kitchen, but she only hesitated for a second before crossing to stand on the other side of the island. Her sweater was bright pink today, and her feet were bare. He wondered if she was the kind of woman who might paint her toes if she had the time and the freedom to do it.
The iron beeped, and he slid the still steaming waffle onto a plate, added some bacon, and carried the plate and the mug of coffee to the table for her. When she only stared, he took a step away.
“I have iced coffee if you prefer that instead.”
“No. Hot is fine. Thank you.”
She crossed the kitchen so slowly he took another step back and waited for her to sit before he moved to unplug the waffle iron and set dishes in the sink. He leaned back against the counter to give her plenty of space while she ate.
She drizzled syrup over her waffle and then peeked at him over her shoulder. “Are you not hungry? I feel weird eating by myself.”
Hiding a smile, he filled a plate for himself and carried it to the table, leaving a space between them. She’d looked so scared last night he didn’t want to spook her.
“How’s your head?”
She reached up to run a fingertip over the bandage and winced slightly. “It’s a little sore. Thanks for leaving the painkillers on the sink.”
“You’re welcome.”
They ate in silence, though it was hardly comfortable. He had a million things he wanted to ask her, to say to her. He wanted to convince her to stay so he could make sure she was okay. But he said none of it.
“Do you think I should call the police? About what happened last night?”
His hand froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. Shit. He hadn’t banked on her wanting to call the cops. If she insisted on it, they had a guy, no, two guys, who worked the beat he could call. And Holt was a detective, albeit with organized crime. Still, he was a resource if James needed it.
“Do you want to call the police?”
Doubt flashed through her eyes, and eventually she shook her head. “Not really. They never seem to care about helping anyway.”
He relaxed and tucked the bitterness in her voice away to explore another time. “Did you sleep okay last night?”
She sighed, and it sounded almost wistful. A smile teased at the corners of her mouth. “That was honestly the best night of sleep I’ve had in a really long time. I’m trying to figure out if I can feasibly sneak the mattress out of here and into the back of my car.”
