I should go to sleep. I even toss over on my side and squeeze my eyes closed. Minutes tick by like hours. It’s useless. I sit up. Throw the blanket off. Pull the blanket back on. With a huff, I drop backward, hitting the pillow hard. It’s after midnight. The cabin is too quiet. Too dark. Too still. I turn my head and look to the right and see the vague outline of Havoc’s giant body on the sofa. It’s safe to assume he’s sleeping. I shouldn’t bother him.
I should leave him alone.
Except, from what Faith told me, Havoc has spent most of his life being left alone. Even most of the people in his immediate trust circle tiptoe around him. Perhaps it’s time someone rattled him.
I pop back up and kick off the blanket. When I slip off the bed, and when my bare feet touch the hardwood floor, Havoc rolls over and nails me with a glare that fries me through the darkness.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I can’t sleep.”
“Count fucking sheep.”
I ignore his surly suggestion and pad into the room. “Havoc?”
He props himself on his elbows, although he’s barely visible through the dim moonlight filtering in from the windows. “What, Kerri?”
I swallow hard, the question I want to ask glued to the back of my throat. “Will you come to bed with me?” And then I cringe at how suggestive the offer sounds. “To sleep. I’m lonely.” And stressed and worried about a million things. “I need your strength.”
I’ve been strong my entire life, safe behind a wall of dignity. Tonight, Ineedto be weak.
Havoc slowly, achingly restrained, flips off the blanket and swings his legs off the sofa. He’s shirtless, and my gaze drifts over the Unholy tattoo across his pecs. The bold, black lettering runs below his collarbone from shoulder to shoulder. My God, this man truly is a work of art. From the ink decorating his body to his sculpted muscles. Everything about him is perfect. Pure, raw power. A Viking god. All he’s missing is a sword and war paint.
Because he certainly carries the battle scars.
They lie hidden beneath intricate tattoos that decorate his skin from wrists to shoulders—fresh cuts layered among old, faded marks. Cuts I don’t dare ask him about, partly because I fear the answers.
His gaze never leaves mine when he stands and takes my hand. He towers over me, his strength a tangible force surrounding us as he guides me to the bedroom. Each step pounds against the floorboards as if in time with the heavy beating of my heart. And then we’re at the bed. I slide under the blankets and watch as Havoc walks around to the other side. I can barely breathe as he climbs in beside me. He pulls me against him, my back colliding with his chest like two puzzle pieces. He’s warm and solid, and it’s as if the universe falls away.
I’m what people call statuesque at five feet eight inches of slender Scandinavian ancestry. It’s difficult to make me feel small. Yet Havoc somehow does precisely that. He makes me feel delicate. And when I snuggle into him, I can’t seem to catch my breath.
“Relax, Duchess.” His hoarse whisper scratches over my sensitive flesh. “This was your idea.”
Wasn’t it, though?
What in the world was I thinking?
That I’m lonely and homesick and worried about my dad. And also, wouldn’t it be nice, at least for tonight, to sleep in Havoc’s arms? Those arms, like steel bands, to anchor me to his body? The steady rise and fall of his chest to help soothe me to sleep?
His hard length is fit snugly between the cleft of my ass, crafting lewd images that contradict the chaste reason I asked him here. I fist a hand in the blanket and squeeze my eyes shut to keep from succumbing to the thoughts battering my mind.
As if I’d dare to follow through with even half the things I want to do to this man.
Things like explore every inch of him with my—
“Breathe before you suffocate.”
I exhale on a pathetic laugh. “I never slept with a man.” That sounds so wrong. “I mean, I’ve slept with a man. Like, I mean, had sex, but neverslept, slept with one.”
Shut up, Kerri, you’re babbling.
It’s true, though. I’ve never spent an entire night with anyone. Never slept in someone’s arms. Nor have I woken up snuggled beside them, with their arms wrapped around me. It always seemed too…intimate…if that makes sense.
Havoc’s sigh ruffles my hair. He rolls over, and I grab his arm. He hisses and yanks his arm free. I forgot about his cuts. “I should go back to the sofa.”
“Don’t.” God, how pathetic. I’ve never begged anyone for anything, but I’m pleading with him to stay. For this one night.
He slams back down, hands folded behind his head. “Fine.”
