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I suck in a breath of air through my teeth, willing myself not to stare at him. I can’t watch the way he licks his lips or the way his throat bobs with the motion of swallowing liquor. I won’t accept the sudden flush to my cheeks as arousal, or as anything other than the alcohol.
“Jaime, you need to leave,” I say. “I have to go to bed.”
“I’m staying, Saoirse.”
I stand, the world spinning as I do. “No,” I say, my patience on the verge of snapping. “I don’t want you here.”
“Saoirse. Someone broke into your home. They came in here without tipping off the security cameras, with no forced entry. Please. I’m begging you to push aside your resentment toward me and just, let me fucking protect you.” His voice breaks, the plea in his tone clear, despite the room being flipped upside down.
He takes another swig, and his intention is clear. He’s drinking so he can’t drive home. That fucking infuriates me. I’m sick of him controlling me, of making decisions without me. Putting me on the spot like this is so fucked.
I force myself to pick a spot on the wall past him, square my shoulders, and with every ounce of my energy, I say, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, and tonight only.”
Tomorrow, I’ll see if Corbin is willing to let me stay at his place. I fight back the urge to smirk, knowing that’ll truly piss off Scotty.
I head out of the room, stopping only when I get to the entrance. My balance is unsteady, and I grip the frame of the wall to stay upright. Turning my head, I toss my words over my shoulder. “I mean it, Jameson. One night, only.”
I kick my heels off by the closet before heading up the hardwood stairs. My heart thuds, knowing he’ll be asleep down here, but I force myself to move up the stairs. I’m still not over the way he’s disregarded our friendship.
Theheatoftheshower helps to sober me before bed, though I’m not sure I want to be sober. What I want is to forget this mess.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. I toss and turn the entire night, unable to get comfortable. When I do finally manage to drift off to sleep, the nightmares cloud my visions.
Images of men taking me in the night, of being forced to marry Vladimir Vasiliev. Except, I don’t know what he looks like, so the pictures in my dream are of Corbin. Corbin’s face but Vlad’s name as I stand at the end of the altar.
And when it’s time for me to say my vows, I scream. I claw at the man with my fiancé‘s golden green eyes but a Russian accent. The screams wake me, causing me to shoot up in bed. My heart is beating so fast, I can feel the thudding in my ears.
Sweat drips down my temple, and hair sticks to my face from the pieces that had been drenched with perspiration, now dry against my cheek.
“Shh,” a voice whispers from somewhere in the room. It’s too dark to see, or know where it’s coming from.
And the knowledge that someone is here with me sends my slowing heart back into a spiral of fast thudding. I let out a scream again, whipping my head toward the sound.
“It was just a dream.”
Scotty.
“Jesus Christ. You scared the fuck out of me. What are you doing in here? You creeper!” I reach for the lamp on the nightstand and flick it on. I search for him, finding him in the navy Beaumont chair by the window.
He’s still in his black trousers and white dress shirt, but the tie and jacket are long gone. The lamp causes a sliver of light to hit his face just enough that I can make out the curve of his square chin. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“I was making sure you were okay.”
My mouth drops open. “By watching me sleep?” I grab one of the pillows beside me and toss it at his head. It misses completely, dropping at his feet. I harrumph in my failure.
Scotty tilts his head back and laughs. He bends down to grab it, then tosses it back at me. My neck jerks when the pale pink cushion hits me in the face.
“Ouch,” I say, shooting him a glare. “Get out of my room, freak.”
“I was heading up to take a shower in the guest room when I heard you whimpering,” he says. He’s holding a tumbler of liquor and brings the glass to his lips. “I was just checking on you.”
“How long have you been there?” I ask, pulling the hair stuck to my face free.
“Long enough to know you were having a nightmare about Corbin.”
I swallow. “I was not.”
“You were screaming his name.” He brings the amber liquid to his mouth again. “And it didn’t sound like it was a sex dream.” His lips scowl, and he shakes his head. “No. That cry was out of fear, Saoirse.”
