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“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To bed.”
He jerked his head to the left. “The bed is that way.”
My mouth dropped open.
“You think I’m going to let you sleep alone?” he demanded.
“I—”
“You shrieked at me.”
Oh God.
How embarrassing was this?
“I’m fine now, Ian.”
“You’ll be more fine if you have another nightmare that wakes you up, terrified, and you don’t have to race through the house in the dark to get where you feel safe. You didn’t go to Lou. You didn’t go to Portia. You came to me. That shares all I need to know. Now, get in my bed.”
“I don’t want to—”
I stopped talking when he looked to the ceiling.
This had to do with him being clearly exasperated, and I felt bad it was me exasperating him.
This also had to do with the fact his throat and shoulders and collarbone and chest were on display, all of that was close, and I was no longer freaking out (so much), so I could process it, and what I was processing was making me weak in the knees.
He looked down at me and his voice had gentled when he urged, “I need sleep. You definitely need sleep. And honest to fuck, I need you in here with me. Swear to Christ, the way you looked when you rushed in here, I thought the devil was on your heels.”
“God, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He pulled me into his arms, close, giving me a comforting hug and a soft urge of, “Come to bed.”
His arms felt good, and I didn’t have the energy to fight it any longer.
“All righty,” I mumbled to the skin across his bulging pecs.
He let me go but took my hand and guided me to bed.
I climbed in and scooched over. He folded in after me.
He turned out the light, pulled the covers high over us both, then found me and tucked me to his warm body.
It could be, all the muscles he was no longer hiding under his clothes were just hard normally.
But I sensed he was tense.
“Did I freak you out?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Stupid question,” I muttered.
“No, it wasn’t. I’m fine,” he assured.
“So am I. I’m okay. It’s all okay. It was just a very bad joke and me winding myself up about things.”
