Was that what she was asking? She wasn’t sure. “To keep me company. I’ve got coffee. Or juice. Or water. There’s scotch.” She was babbling. She never babbled.
A slow smile spread across his face. “I’ll stay, Portia. Whatever you need. You don’t need to bribe me with coffee or juice or water. Or even scotch. Your company is enough.”
Her cheeks warmed and she slapped her hands over them. “Thank you. I just... I don’t want to be alone here right now.”
“Are you afraid of your father? Do you think he’ll hurt you?” he growled.
She started and dropped her hands. “No! I mean, I don’t think so...” she trailed off helplessly.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. He reached past her and locked the door.
The warmth of his body hovered over hers and she wanted so badly to grab onto his shirt and haul him against her. But that wasn’t what she needed. At the moment, she needed to feel safe and not so alone.
She ducked under his arm and he swiveled to face her. “Make yourself at home,” she said, gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll be right back.”
Keeping her pace to something that didn’t look like she was running away was hard, but she made it to her bedroom in a semi-dignified manner. Closing the door behind her, she sagged against it. “What are you doing, Portia?”
Only silence met her whispered question. Her eyes drifted over the bed, where the covers were only rumpled on one side. Tears welled in her eyes. She missed having someone to come home to every night. That was something she should have appreciated more with Tommy. She’d know better next time.
But it was too soon—wasn’t it?—for next time. She was thankful for Aleks’s presence, nonetheless.
Stripping out of her bar clothes, Portia pulled on well-worn leggings and an oversize sweater. She released her hair from the bun and gathered it into a loose ponytail at the back of her neck.
She didn’t want Aleks to think that she’d asked him here to stay over. She hadn’t, had she?
Padding barefoot back to the living room, she paused at the entrance. Aleks was sitting on the couch, his back ramrod straight. He looked so uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she stepped into the room. “I shouldn’t have forced you to stay.”
He turned toward her with a frown. “You didn’t force me to do anything, Portia.”
“You look so tense.” She stepped closer. His gaze tracked her every move.
“It’s not you,” he said. “It’s the start of a headache. I’m trying to keep it from getting worse.”
She frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry. Can I get you any painkillers?”
He shook his head slowly. “No, I took the ones I have.” He patted his pocket and something inside rattled.
Hands clasped in front of her, she studied him. Now that she was looking for them, the little tension lines around his eyes and mouth were obvious. “Can I get you anything?”
“If you could turn down the lights, that would help a lot.”
“Oh, of course.” Grateful to have something to do, Portia made the rounds of her apartment, turning off the lights until the only lights left were in the living room. She opened the drapes about a foot, letting the city gently provide illumination before she turned off the last lamps. “Is that better?”
“Much,” he said. He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.
“Are the city lights too much?” She looked from him to the window and back. She’d close the curtains if he asked, but she didn’t want to. The nighttime sparkle brought her peace.
“No, they’re fine. Perfect, even.” She heard the smile in his voice.
“Good. Ever since the bombing, I haven’t liked full dark.” Her hand slapped over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to share that. She hadn’t intended to share that with anyone, ever.
“I understand.” He patted the couch. “Will you come sit with me?”
Portia hurried over to the sofa. She eyed the cushion next to him and the one at the other end. She should be professional and sit at the end, but she was tired of always doing what she should. She took a seat gingerly next to him, not wanting to be too needy, too demanding.
He opened his arm along the top of the couch. “It’s your choice,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.
