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I didn’t need people.
I certainly never needed a man.
But hearing him say he had me, implying that I could just do it, surrender to it, let him take care of me, it was doing something to me.
He was doing something to me.
Thawing me.
Hell, melting me.
I felt gooey inside.
For the first time in my life.
“I was in my new place,” I told his neck, unable to fight the urge to get it out of me. “And he broke in. With a knife. And he was ripping off my clothes. And telling me he was going to use the knife to… to…”
I couldn’t even say it.
I didn’t need to.
“Fuck,” Gunner hissed quietly under his breath. “Just let it go, duchess. Don’t hold onto that shit. It wasn’t real. It is never going to be real. I won’t let it,” he added for emphasis. And, what’s more, I believed him. I trusted him. He would make me safe.
But here’s the rub.
He would make me safe.
And then he would leave me.
Forever.
“I know,” I said, letting him pull my knees until they were over his lap, his body literally cradling mine. “I trust you,” I added, those words pretty monumental for me.
I hardly trusted anyone.
I barely even trusted myself.
But I trusted him.
Implicitly.
Without hesitation.
That, well, was terrifying.
Because I could get used to it.
And I was only going to lose it.
Sooner rather than later.
“What time is it?” I asked, not even pretending to fight it when my hands moved down, curling around his center, holding on tight.
“Three,” he supplied, and I could have sworn I felt his lips on my hair.
But that was crazy.
Impossible even.
Wishful thinking maybe.
“Should we get going?” I asked, knowing he was likely already up and had our stuff packed up.
“Got a bit,” he said, arm giving me a squeeze.
He didn’t say it.
Apparently, he didn’t need to.
Because we both understood.
We were going to sit here just like this.
For as long as we could find an excuse to.
Then, like clockwork, just as you could just make out the slits of sunlight around the room darkening shades, he gave me another squeeze, and without saying anything, we both just unfolded from each other and went our separate ways.
I came out from the shower to find he had made egg sandwiches and had cleaned up already.
We ate.
We grabbed coffee to go.
We packed the rest of my luggage into the SUV.
And we left.
Watching that cabin disappear into the rearview somehow felt more final than leaving my apartment back in the city.
Maybe because the city, that life, all that hollow I had worked so hard to accumulate was just that… empty.
But what I had for such a short time in that cabin felt like more. Felt weighted. Important. Felt like it could have been infinitely more.
“Haven’t said a word in three hours,” Gunner said around eight in the morning as I stared out the window, watching the world pass me by.
“I have nothing to say.”
It was a lie, of course.
But everything I had to say would make me sound crazy.
Like… I think I like you.
Like… I wish we could give this a chance.
Like… I barely know you, but I know I am going to miss you.
I simply couldn’t say any of that.
So I stayed silent.
EIGHT
Gunner
Something was up with her.
She wouldn’t admit it.
When I asked, her tone implied I was being irritating or irrational or annoying.
But something was up.
The real question, though, wasn’t why something was up; It was why I cared.
I did.
That was clear.
Cared, that is.
I had never cuddled a woman in my life before.
Not after sex.
Not when a client was crying.
Never.
I’d never even had the urge to.
But this morning, Sloane waking up out of a twisted nightmare, clinging to me like her life depended on it, the urge was there.
And I acted on it.
What’s more, I didn’t want to let go.
That was some crazy ass shit.
And wanting to know why she was silent for seven and a half goddamn hours was too.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t used to long, silent car rides. I was. Alone or with other people. I usually insisted upon it. Nothing was more useless than small talk. And nothing was more irritating than whining or complaining or demanding to know how long until we reach the next destination.
The silence was usually the only way I could deal with a client.
But with Sloane, it was bothering me.
I wanted to know what put her in this mood. Was it the nightmare? Was it the idea of the next leg of the journey? Was her stomach hurting? Just fucking… what?
She didn’t have anything to say, my ass.
She had plenty to say.
She just wasn’t going to share it.
With me.
Hell, we hadn’t even stopped for lunch, and she hadn’t said anything about it.
Sure, she wasn’t a big eater as a whole, but I’d heard her stomach growling a few minutes before. Yet she’d said nothing. Just kept staring blankly out her side window.
