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He’s right, and I need to be sensible.
And Jesus, I’d do anything to take that look from his face.
His eyes land on my resting hand, the crease on his brow deepening again, and I’ve lost my mind because I reach out, feathering the line with my thumb to ease it. He doesn’t react, and my heart stops. Then it pounds so loud it’s likely he can hear it. And when we both exhale together, he leans into the comfort my touch is offering. I feel his breath across my palm, and every inch of me tingles.
“Please, Claire. I can’t—” He stops, taking another deep breath, his broad shoulders straining against his suit jacket. “I just need you to be safe. I made you a promise last night, but if you get hurt, I won’t be able to keep it.”
Well, what do you know?
Hell has frozen over again.
“Okay,” I whisper, urging him to look at me. “I’ll stay with you.” My shoulders sag, but most of it is relief from knowing I don’t have to stay alone.
He leans back. “Okay?”
I shake my head and offer a small smile. At least he doesn’t look like he’s in pain anymore. “Okay.”
Strong arms come around my back and pull me tight to his chest. My heart all but stops.
“Woman, you drive me crazy. Why do you always have to argue with me?”
I laugh under my breath and hug him back because his touch makes my legs shaky, and I need something to steady myself.
“Because it’s so much fun.”
He continues to speak to me but never loosens his grip, and I feel his lips press against the top of my head. “You’re the person who laughs at funerals, aren’t you?”
My shoulders shake again. “Oh yeah. My best friend died when I was nineteen. It was one of the saddest days of my life, and none of my other friends had the time to cry because they were too busy waiting for me to break into laughter. I was doing so well until the priest slipped on a step.”
He pulls away, holding me by my upper arms. “I take it back. I’m bringing you to your house.”
“Hey,” I scold, nudging him.
Cupping his fingers under my chin, he tilts my head to meet his gaze. “Come on. Get your things. We’re going home.”
***
I forgot how big his kitchen is.
It’s bigger than my entire house.
Who needs a kitchen this big?
Nothing is out of place.
Yet, it feels homely.
Warm.
And I’m beginning to think he has an obsession with trees. The surroundings are similar to the shelter. A sprawling house lost in its own forest.
An escape.
Hidden.
I’m just getting used to finding my way around the shelter, and he’s set on making sure I get lost here, too.
His anger subsided enough by the time we got here to get some information out of him. He moved into this house two years ago.
