“I…I…”
Nope. No go. Her chest squeezed, constricting as if all the air had been sucked out of the car and replaced with liquid cement. A tremble worked its way up from her very center, and the ripple effect made her shiver and sweat at the same time. Devon’s fingers slid from where they’d been resting over her lips, hooking gently in her hair as he put his face directly in her line of vision.
“Hey. Hey.” His whisper was soft, so unlike the one that had come before to quiet her and so very unlike his rock-hard demeanor that Kylie blinked, her panic slipping just an inch.
“There we go, yeah,” Devon murmured. “Look at me.” His thumb found the spot on her jaw just below her ear, smoothing a slow circle over the skin there, and the movement snagged enough of her attention to keep her shaking in check. Sort of.
Devon leaned in, his chest covering hers in strong, steady warmth. “Whoever was in that car was just passing by, okay? See—no lights. No sounds. Nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t our guy.”
Kylie’s heartbeat continued to slam, the white noise whoosh of her blood pressing hard against her eardrums despite her desire to be tough. “F-Fagan could still be coming. He could still find us.”
“He could. But we wouldn’t be sitting here for a second if I thought he would. Nothing’s going to happen to you. Not on my watch.”
This time, Kylie’s blink was one of slow realization. “So, we can go?” Please, God, she just needed to get out of here, out of this car and this state and this whole situation.
“I don’t think Fagan’s close by,” Devon said, although he didn’t let go of her. “But I want to give it a few more minutes, just to be on the safe side.”
Her throat knotted. “Devon, I can’t. Please, I need to?—”
“Breathe,” he finished, and funny how her lungs got on board with that quiet, commanding voice. “I need you calm, Kylie. I need you with me. So, can you take a breath for me, nice and slow?”
With him. Right. She could do this. She could.
She inhaled, hating the way her chest wobbled and hitched, but at least the air got partway into her lungs.
Devon’s voice was smooth and calm, his body steady on hers. “There you go. Perfect. See, we’ve got this.”
“Mmkay,” Kylie murmured, although she still wasn’t convinced she was anywhere close to okay.
Which must have made two of them, because Devon didn’t budge. “What’s your favorite thing to eat for dinner?”
“What?”
The question was so ridiculously out of place, but still, he didn’t take it back. “Mine’s chicken Parmesan, although it’s tough to go wrong with a good, old-fashioned New York strip steak with roasted potatoes.”
“Um.” Kylie took a breath and thought for a second. “I guess mine is spaghetti and meatballs.” Her stomach let out a rumble at the thought, and wasn’t that just embarrassing, considering her midsection was less than a foot from Devon’s ear right now.
“That’s a good one,” he said. “S’pose you’d have a nice bottle of red with that, huh?”
“Maybe.” Her muscles let go a little against her seat, and she leaned into the heat of Devon’s palm, still firm and strong and sweet against her cheek as she thought about the food, the bright flavors of tomato and basil bursting across her tongue. “Yeah. Pinot noir. Or, no, Chianti. That would be a perfect match.”
Kylie didn’t see his smile as much as she felt it moving toward her in the shadows. “I’m not much of a wine guy, so I’ll take your word for it. But, here’s what I want you to do. Every time you get scared, I want you to close your eyes.” He paused long enough for her to let her eyes flutter shut for a trial run, but then his words continued, low and hypnotic. “Good. Just like that. Then I want you to picture that dinner in your mind. The spaghetti and meatballs, the wine. All of it.”
Kylie’s laugh was as soft as it was involuntary. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Devon said, his smile hanging just slightly in his voice. “Red and white tablecloth, garlic bread—there can even be candles on the table, okay? You can see it, right? In your mind’s eye?”
She nodded, her shoulders going lax. “Yes.”
“Okay. Now every time you get scared, or you think something bad might happen, I want you to grab onto this picture in your head. Because once we get you safe, you’re going to have that dinner.”
“Do you promise?”
Somewhere, in the logical part of her brain, Kylie knew Devon couldn’t promise she’d be okay any more than he could promise her the moon on a pie plate. But between the quick, calculating actions he’d taken to get her away from Fagan and the slow, soothing circles his thumb was tracing over her jaw, she couldn’t deny the truth.
If Devon said yes, she’d believe him.
“Yes. I promise, Kylie. I’ll get you safe.”
