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I back my ‘81 Camaro out of the garage and pull Jessa’s car inside to hide it. It’s probably a little extreme, but I’m not taking any chances. It’ll bring her some comfort knowing it’s out of sight, and unless there’s a tracking device on it, no one will know she’s here.
After closing the garage door and taking a quick, sweeping glance around the perimeter to make sure nothing is amiss, I head back inside and pause at the bottom of the stairs. The faint sound of running water trickles down the stairwell, telling me she’s still in the shower.
I step into the kitchen to prepare a drink for her when she gets out. Not an alcoholic drink–I refuse to turn my fragile babydoll into a raging alcoholic–but something comforting, relaxing.
Chamomile tea.
It always works for me when I’m too stressed to think straight and I don’t want to do any more damage to my liver. Hopefully, it’ll help her the same way.
I prepare the tea silently, letting my mind wander with endless possibilities.
If her ex is trying to find her, is it safe for her to drive at all? I’m more than happy to take her to and from work, but I know she won’t want that. She’s too proud and too terrified for anyone we work with to think we’re sleeping together.
Maybe I can lend her the Lexus and I can take one of the others this week, just until we figure out what to do.
I might have to make a few calls.
If Jessa is willing to give me her ex’s name, a few phone calls will have him tracked down in a heartbeat. That’s what happens when you have money–you have friends in both very high and very low places. Besides, one of them probably owes me a favor.
When I hear the water cut off, I fill a mug with tea and head for the stairs, stopping outside the closed door to the spare bedroom. She shuffles around inside, and I rap my knuckles against the door.
“Come in,” she calls.
She’s scrunching her wet curls with a towel when I walk in, dressed in a baby blue tank top and pair of shorts that expose her long, gorgeous legs. I fight to keep my eyes from wandering, but not before I catch a glimpse of her hardened nipples peeking through the thin material of her top.
Fuck.Under different circumstances, I might sit the tea aside and grab her, throwing her on the bed to smother her in kisses. The thoughts of stripping her out of those soft pajamas and tossing them to the floor has my cock twitching, and I know I need to hurry the fuck up and get out of here.
Otherwise…
“I brought you something for the nerves,” I say, cutting off my filthy thoughts and stepping into the room. I gesture to the mug in my hand.
“Vodka? I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing that’ll do the trick this time.” She steps forward curiously, peering into the mug at the swirling brown liquid. “What is that?”
“Chamomile tea,” I say, handing it to her. “It always works for me when I need to unwind.”
She cocks an eyebrow at me. “You mean you’re not going to liquor me up so I can sleep in a coma all night?”
“Negative.” I shake my head. “Just because I’m a bartender doesn’t mean I only consume liquor, babydoll. Neither should you.”
She blows on the steaming liquid and takes a careful sip. “Touché.”
“If you need anything else, let me know,” I say, doing my best to keep the vulgar thoughts at bay. I won’t take advantage of her when she’s mentally distraught and seeking sanctuary. I’m giving her the distance she wanted, even though it hurts. Even though it’s the last thing I want.
If she so much as hints that she wants something more, I’m hers without question. She can have every part of me, whenever and wherever she wants.
“You know where to find me.” Then I dip out of the room, heading for my room at the end of the hall.
It might not be the ideal arrangement–I’d still rather be holding her all night–but she’s safe.
No one is going to get to her while I’m around.
Not tonight, not ever.
twenty-seven
JESSA
The chamomile tea does the trick and lulls me into a sense of comfort within a few minutes.
