“You think it was Davidson.”
She nodded. “I know it was. I’ll bet anything that he was waiting for her when she got home that night she had coffee with you. He tends to be a bit... possessive with Lacie.”
Shane flicked a glance toward the bedroom. “He does that often?”
“Too often. Thinks he owns her or something.”
“Why does she allow it?”
Corinne snorted, gathering her bag. “You don’t know Craig. He’s a born manipulator, and he knows all her soft spots. She’s tried to talk to him about it, but he twists everything around until she feels bad for saying anything.”
She hefted the bag over her shoulder and put her hand on the door. “Shane, I know you guys are just getting started and all. I’m sorry if I’m expecting too much or reading too much into it. I just thought ...”
She let the sentence hang, unsure how to express what she suspected was going on between them. There was simply no other way to interpret the look Lacie had in her eyes when she spoke of him, and she was fairly certain she’d seen the same in his when he looked at her. There was certainly no mistaking the almost-feral intensity surrounding him now, something starkly male and protective that sent a twinge of envy through her.
“You thought right,” Shane said, putting her fears to rest. “I’m glad you called. I’ll take good care of her.”
Corinne smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. It was always nice to be proven right. “So... if I’m too tired to drive back tonight and don’t make it here till around noon tomorrow, that would be okay?”
With a devastating grin, Shane assured her it would.
*
Shane made his way toward Lacie’s bedroom silently, not wanting to wake her. She was tucked beneath a hand-stitched ivory and blue quilt, the top edge barely covering her breasts. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythmic breaths of deep slumber; her now-casted hand lay atop the covers, the plaster extending from the middle of her fingers to slightly beyond her wrist. The corners of his lips quirked; her cast was a soft pink color that matched her nightshirt. Corinne had already signed it with a flourish of curls and hearts.
He watched her for a while, remembering that the first time he had seen her she’d been asleep, too. Her long, dark blonde lashes created perfect crescents against her smooth skin. Strands of her lighter blonde hair fell wantonly across her forehead; the rest bunched into a halo of soft, tousled curls where her head rested on the pillow. Shane felt what was becoming a familiar pang shoot across his chest. There was no doubt about it. She was his.
His eyes flicked back to her hand, the slow burn of rage beginning all over again. Lacie was his, to love, care for, and protect.
And Craig Davidson was a dead man.
Shane remembered the phone call that had signaled the end of their time together that night, Davidson’s enraged voice clearly audible across the table they shared. He should have realized what might happen. Why had he not followed Lacie home that night? And why hadn’t she said anything?
He thinks he owns her or something. Shane would make sure that misconception got cleared up very quickly. Lacie belonged to no one. Except him. But that would be because she wanted to, and as his croie, she would. Given the little bit he knew about her, she didn’t seem to be the type to allow someone to push her around like that. She might look like an adorable little bit of fluff, but there was no doubting her strong, clever spirit.
As if she sensed his presence, Lacie’s eyes flickered open and went right to him, though she was clearly having trouble focusing. “Shane?” Her voice, husky with sleep and thick from the pain meds, wrapped around him and pulled him closer.
“Hi, Lacie. Yes, I’m here.” Very gently, he took her good hand in his, bringing it to his lips to brush a light kiss upon it.
“Am I dreaming? It’s the drugs, isn’t it? Man, that’s some good stuff...”
Shane chuckled. “You’re not dreaming, Lacie. Corinne called me to keep an eye on you while she drove your parents to the airport.”
“She worries too much.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.” Her eyes closed for a long moment, and he thought she dropped off again. “I’m sorry, Shane. I’m afraid I’m not going to be very good company. These pills make me so sleepy.”
“Don’t be,” he said, brushing the hair from her face. “Instead of sitting at my place all night thinking about you, I get to be here, taking care of you.”
She gifted him with a tiny but genuine smile. “Just how you wanted to spend your Saturday night, right?”