I start toward her room and knock once on the bedroom door. “May I come in?”
She looks up, the lamplight soft on her cheek. The blanket is higher, and her eyes have a sleepiness to them they didn’t have before. The pills are working. A glass of water sits half-empty on the side table. “How do you feel?” I ask.
“Floaty,” she says, her voice a little rough, “but better. Dr. Andrews said I was lucky.” She swallows. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” I say.
She tries to push herself a little higher on the pillows and winces.
“Careful.” I move close and adjust the pillow behind her shoulders. I fight not to pull her into my arms and hold her. I’m not sure why this woman holds such interest, has captured my full attention, but she does. There is something about her that draws me in and it’s out of my control.
“Mr. Moretti,” she says softly.
“Lucien,” I state. “When we are alone, please say Lucien.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Something warm moves in them, unexpected and steady. “Thank you, Lucien.”
I nod, then realize that a nod is not enough. “You’re safe here. No one gets in. No one touches you.”
She exhales, the first easy breath I’ve heard since she walked through my door. “I believe you.”
Silence stretches, but it’s a different kind now. Not brittle or charged. Her fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, then stop. She looks at me like she’s weighing something on her mind and isn’t sure if she ought to say it or not. Then, to my surprise, she sits up and reaches for me.
I should pull away, but I don’t. I’m powerless to stop myself from holding her. Her arms go around my neck, careful, tentative, then firmer when she feels I won’t pull away. She is warm and small and shaking a little. I hold very still until I feel that tremor ease, then I fold my arms around her, trying not to press where the pain stirs. My hand finds the uninjured line of her back and rests there. Her breath slides out against my throat.
I swallow, biting down the desire that rocks through me. It burns like molten lava.
“Thank you,” she says, the words against my neck, and I feel them in places I shouldn’t.
I should let her go. I don’t. Not for several rapid beats of my heart. When she shifts, I loosen my arms, but her fingers don’t leave me. They trace the edge of my collar, a quiet, absent motion that lights every nerve I pretend not to have.
She leans back just enough to search my face. We are too close. I can count the golden flecks in her eyes, the shape of her mouth, the place where fear gives way to something that looks like relief. My gaze drops before I can stop it. Her lip’s part. Mine do too.
I feel the pull like gravity. My hand lifts of its own accord, skimming up to cup her jaw, then stalls because I rememberthe purple bruise blossoming under her shirt and the doctor’s instructions and the fact that painkillers can turn her world into soft edges.
Make her do things she would otherwise not.
“Briar…” Her name is agony on my lips.
“I’m feeling better,” she whispers.
“You are not.” My voice is low, pained. I ache and want her with a desperation that hurts. For a heartbeat we hover there, a breath apart, the heat of her mouth mixing with mine, the taste of this choice right on the edge of us. Every part of me wants to take it. Every part of me says not like this.
I let my thumb brush her cheek, nothing more. It feels like too much anyway.
“Rest,” I say. “You need sleep more than anything.”
Her eyes search mine, then she nods. She eases back into the pillows, and I help the blanket settle over her.
“Will you be here?” she asks, fear tainting her tone.
“I will,” I say. “I’m right down the hall. If you need anything, you call my name.”
She smiles, small and tired. “Goodnight, Lucien.”
“Goodnight, Briar.” I switch off the lamp and leave the door half-open so I can hear her if needed. In the living room I watch the city for a long minute, hands on the back of the sofa, breathing until the old heat of anger cools into something I can use. Then I walk to my room.
The thought of her bruises is a brand on my skin. The memory of her arms around my neck is worse. I strip the day away and turn the shower on and let the water thunder against tile. I close my eyes and see the purple on her ribs and the way she looked at me when she said my name.
