Christmas Eve dawns bright and cold outside the loft windows. I leave Parker asleep in my bed and make my way into the bathroom. In the fluorescent light, the faint bruising around my neck from where my attacker held me looks even uglier than it did last night. Thankfully, the thin slice wound just below my jawline isn’t visible unless I tilt my head back.
I hop in the shower, turning the water almost as hot as it will go, and stand under the torrent for a while. It’s the anniversary of my parents’ death – by all accounts, the worst day of my year.
And yet… the dreadful weight that usually fills my chest from the moment my eyes open on this day simply isn’t there. Instead, there’s a light, fluttery feeling inside my soul, crowding out the sadness.
I know that feeling has everything to do with the tall, bronze-haired man sleeping in my bed.
As though he’s heard me call him in my thoughts, a few seconds later Parker steps into the shower behind me and slides his arms around my stomach.
“Good morning.” His voice is still husky with sleep as he plants a kiss against my neck.
“Morning,” I breathe, leaning into him.
“Are you okay?” He pulls back. “Sorry. Stupid question. I know today is impossible for you.”
I turn in his arms and loop my hands around his neck. “Surprisingly… I’m okay.”
His brows lift.
“Really.” I push up onto my tiptoes and try plant a kiss on his lips — except I’m too short to reach. “Bend down, you giant human, so I can kiss you.”
His eyes flash. “I’ll do you one better.”
Lifting me so my legs go around his waist, his hips pin my body as he backs me up against the tile wall. His lips find mine and I get my kiss… plus a hell of a lot more, as his hands move against my wet skin.
After our shower, we towel off in silence. I’m still grinning like an idiot from the after-glow of my orgasm.
“So, you’re gonna have to pack at least a week’s worth of clothes,” Parker says casually, running the towel over his damp hair to remove most of the moisture.
The grin falls off my face. “Excuse me?”
“Clothes.” He drops the towel. “Enough for a week.”
“I’m not following.”
“You can’t stay here alone.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because someone followed you here. It’s obvious they know where you live. Which means it’s not safe for you to be here.”
“I’m not leaving.” I swallow. “This is my home.”
“Fine.” He shrugs. “Then I’ll move in.”
“What?!” I gape at him. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“Oh, darling, don’t test me.” He smiles, but there’s a dangerous edge to it. “You’re not going to be out of my sight until this shit with Lancaster is resolved.” He pauses. “Maybe even after that.”
“What?!” I exclaim again.
He doesn’t answer. He just takes a few steps closer, bends down, and kisses me hard and fast. “I’m hungry. You want breakfast? I’ll make breakfast.”
Without another word, he strides naked out of my bathroom, leaving me slack-jawed and reeling.
“But—” I call after him, feeling totally helpless. “You can’t move in. I mean it, Parker!”
“You like bacon, right?” he calls back.
I sigh.
Fuck.
* * *
When my phone rings later that day, I grimace as I glance at the screen.
Parker looks up from his spot on my couch, where he’s been camped out watching old Christmas movies on my spare laptop for the past four hours as I pour over Lancaster files. He pulls off his headphones and raises his brows when he sees my expression.
“Who is it?”
I sigh. “Phoebe. Who on earth gave her my number?”
He laughs. “You do realize she’ll just keep calling until you answer, right?”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
He pops his headphones back in to give me a little privacy and returns to his movie as I connect the call.
“Hello?”
“Holy frack, I can’t believe you answered. I was pretty much positive you were going to ignore my calls until I was forced to come over there bearing cupcakes and scale the walls into your apartment with my bare hands.” She hauls in a breath. “Really happy you proved me wrong, though, because I don’t think many cupcake stores are even open today, what with it being Christmas Eve and all. Plus, I think channeling my inner Spiderman may be a challenge in Louboutins.”
“Hi, Phoebe.” I say dryly when she stops babbling.
“Oh! Sorry. Probably should’ve said hello before launching in like a lunatic.” She sighs. “Anyway, Nate gave me your number. He didn’t want to, but I was in a…” She pauses and her voice drops to a sultry whisper. “Persuasive mood.”
“Gross.”