“About what happened?”
I nod. “I can’t seem to get rid of it. Every time I close my eyes, it’s like it’s happening all over again.”
Ronan takes a deep breath. “Scoot over.”
“What?”
“Scoot over,” he says, lifting the sheet.
I move and he slides into bed with me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He lies down. “Come here.”
I hesitate, still holding the sheet.
“I swear, Selene, you can trust me. I just want you to feel safe tonight.”
I move in toward him. He puts his arms around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder. His body is so warm, his arms strong. He brushes my hair back from my face, careful not to touch me where I’m hurt.
God, he feels so good. I squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself to stop thinking about all the reasons this is a bad idea. Maybe I should have just let Braxton and Kylie stay, and insisted Ronan go home. He’s my boss. I have to go to work on Monday. Am I supposed to pretend this didn’t happen? I’m completely vulnerable—scared, hurt, and exposed—and in this terribly intimate moment, Ronan is here.
But his body next to me feels so right, I can’t tear myself away. I’m melting into him, my limbs relaxing, my breath calming down. I hear his heartbeat, and mine slows to match his. Even with my brother’s fierce protective streak, I’ve never felt as safe as I do in this moment, with Ronan’s arms around me.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“A bit after two.”
“You couldn’t sleep?”
“Not really,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You probably should have gone home.”
“No,” he says and his arms tighten around me. “You needed me here. Sleep now, Selene. Don’t worry about tomorrow.”
I keep my arm draped across his chest, my head on his shoulder. His clean scent fills me, and I let my eyes drift closed. The last thing I feel are his lips on my forehead as I fall asleep.
16: Ronan
The eggs sizzle in the pan, and I flip them over. I have no idea if Selene likes eggs, but she had some in her fridge. The toast pops up in the toaster, and I pull it out, putting it on a plate.
She was still asleep when I woke up. I laid next to her for a while, just watching her breathe. In the dim light, it was harder to see where that asshole had hit her, although her lip still looked swollen. It pissed me off all over again, and any chance I might have had of going back to sleep was gone. I got up as quietly as I could, so I wouldn’t wake her.
I take the eggs off the stove before they burn. I don’t know what she’s going to think about me sleeping in her bed last night. Before she woke up, I was too amped with adrenaline to sleep, so I paced around the house for a while, hoping I’d calm down enough to get some rest. Out of nowhere, I heard her cry out. She’d been dreaming. I knew she wasn’t going to get a decent night sleep alone, and my desire to make her feel better was overwhelming. So I did the only thing I could think to do, and climbed in bed with her.
And fuck, she felt good in my arms. Too good. She was barely dressed, her skin soft against mine. She relaxed quickly and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. Not long after she drifted off, she draped her leg across mine, like she needed to get warm. I drew her closer to me, breathing in her scent. It was so intimate, yet I wasn’t tempted to do anything other than hold her. Part of that was knowing what almost happened last night. The last thing she needed was another man slipping his hands, or his dick, where they weren’t invited. But more than that, it felt so good just to have her near me.
I feel like I cheated—like I got away with something I wasn’t supposed to. A night like that should be reserved for a man who has her trust. Maybe her heart.
I wasn’t sure what to do this morning. I could have gone home, and called her later to see how she’s doing. Her brother and his wife live right around the corner. If she wants company, she has them. God knows they almost didn’t leave last night.
But I don’t want to go. I want to see her come down those stairs and smile at me. I want to touch her face and check her bruises. I want to spend a leisurely morning with her over coffee and breakfast.
I want to stay.
I get another hit of fear. It tightens my chest and makes me feel like I can’t get enough air. What the fuck is that about? I wasn’t afraid when I went after that douchebag last night, and he got in a good shot. I touch my jaw and move it around a bit. Definitely sore, and my knuckles are bruised from hitting him. Apparently jumping in to save a woman from being attacked isn’t cause for fear, but the idea of spending a quiet day with her is what’s going to scare me? There’s definitely something wrong with me. I imagine what Sarah would say. Or my brother. They’d tell me I need therapy again.