Not fifteen minutes later, Maeve returns, refreshed and smiling, dressed in a soft, worn t-shirt and a pair of plain blue sweat pants. Her dark hair, damp and combed off her face, hangs down her back in a wet curtain. I itch to run my fingers through the strands.
No signs of the earlier trembling remain. She seems calm. Relaxed.
I refuse to think about why the sight soothes the raw ends of my nerves.
I hand her ice wrapped in a hand towel. While she applies it to her cheek, I pour us both a glass of the decanted wine. Then I take Maeve’s elbow and tug her over to the cream-colored sofa.
She sinks into the cushions with a content sigh. “What were you even doing in the stairwell? I screamed, but I know you couldn’t hear that from your suite.”
I wrap one arm around the back of the couch, not quite touching her. “Coming to meet you, of course.”
“Twenty-five minutes early?”
“I like to be prompt.”
I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell her that Rory was checking the video feeds and saw Shout attack her and warned me. I flew out of my room like the place was on fire.
The fury that seized me when that monster put his hands on her for the second time was stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Like a rush of deadly venom through my veins.
If she hadn’t hovered a few feet away, I would’ve smashed his head into the concrete right then and there.
Maeve shifts beside me, drawing my attention back to her. “Well, your punctuality saved my life.”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “I don’t know about that. You were putting up a pretty good fight.”
“Which I think was causing more of a problem.”
I grit my teeth against the fresh wave of anger because I know she’s right. Animals like him feed on the struggles of weaker prey.
Reminding myself of the impending payback coming for him, I curl my arm around her shoulders. Her solid form reassures me that she’s okay.
After we both finish our glasses of this spectacular wine, she pours us more.
She seems all right—body relaxed, a soft smile on her face—but more quiet than I’m used to seeing her. Harder to read.
Maybe she’d prefer to be alone after that mess in the stairwell, but I don’t want to leave her.
She swirls her glass, her eyes sliding to mine. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the evening I had in mind for us. I’m sure there are other things you’d rather be doing.”
I cock my head. “Hey, don’t do that. I have no expectations. And I promise you, I’m exactly where I want to be. I’m here for whatever you need. Do you want to talk about what happened?”
She sighs and hunches forward. “Not really. I don’t even want to think about it, but my brain won’t let it go. And not just the assault. The part where you rescued me too.” She gives a helpless little shrug. “But the wine is great.”
“It is. So is the company.” I drain my second glass and set it down. “If you want to be alone, though, I can leave.”
My chest loosens when she shakes her head. “Unless you need to go.”
“No, I want to stay here with you.”
And I do.
I can’t just walk out on her after that.
I don’t want to walk out on her, period.
“Okay. I’d like that too.”
She finishes her wine and licks her lips. I pry the glass from her hand. “Refill?”
