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I want to smooth them away.
It’s my job to protect her, but it’s my life’s mission to make her feel like she never needs to be protected. To make her feel so safe she never has to worry again.
As her forehead presses against the glass, she closes her eyes, long lashes resting softly against the fine bones of her cheeks. Lindsay is the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted. I’ve been with others, but that wasn’t real – it was just the momentary relief of not being alone. Fleeting and simple, it left me unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. Wanting more, but always with someone else.
With the woman I’m staring at right now.
A single tear rolls down her cheek and my throat tightens. I want to wipe it away. I want to bury her cheek in my shoulder and hold her until she doesn’t hurt any more.
Her eyes snap open and meet mine.
Drew, she says, her mouth forming my name.
And then she closes her eyes and lifts her hand, pressing her palm against the glass.
That’s all the invitation I need.
The sprint around the house and through the kitchen door is greeted by various security team members calling out, “Sir,” snapping to attention like the ex-military members they are. Rank doesn’t count here.
Being their boss does.
I’m up the stairs two at a time until I stop in front of her door, two guys watching me, turning away when they are certain of my identity. My heart’s slamming in my chest like I’m slapping it. I curl my fingers into a fist and knock.
“Come in,” she says in a tiny voice that feels like tears.
I open the door without looking at her, pivoting to close it slowly, turning the lock without discussion. I know why she invited me.
So does she.
Four years of wondering are about to end.
Four years of trying to atone are about to be redeemed.
She stands in front of the window, turned toward me, eyes wide and glistening. A small, dim light next to her bed is the only way I can see her, the moonlight behind her crowded out by the curtains, which slowly swish as she steps forward, abruptly cutting off the outdoor light.
Her nightgown is open at the neck, an oddly feminine article that isn’t the norm for her. Then again, what’s normal for Lindsay?
She moves like sunshine, like stardust, her feet bare and sweet, her arms at her sides.
“Drew,” she whispers.
By the time she starts to say another word, she’s in my arms and my mouth is on hers, silencing her. I’m brutal, and I don’t care. I need to take this kiss. I need to pull it out of her, gasp by gasp, moan by moan. I need to make her give it to me until she begs me to stop.
Until she’s ready for more.
Until her pain is gone.
“You taste like sweat and alcohol,” she says with a laugh.
“Guilty of both.” I roll my lips, biting them. “Alcohol’s long out of my system from the run. That okay?” I want her to know I’m clear-headed.
She shrugs and frowns. “I didn’t – God, Drew, that was close. Why did you beat him up?”
She wants to talk.
Huh.
Okay...
