I feel his presence, his body warm and pressed into my back, his arm wrapped over my waist, holding me to him. He’s the reason for me being so warm.
A flutter of his fingers runs over the scars on my back, and I tense.
“Why are you cuddling me?” I turn my head and he pulls his arm off me, flopping onto his back.
“You were whimpering in your sleep.”
“So, you gave me a cuddle?” I raise my eyebrow, and he just stares at me. His head cocks to the side, his lips pressed in a tight line as his jaw clenches.
“Well, it helped. You stopped whimpering and thrashing about in your sleep. What were you dreaming about?”
“I erm…” I stop. What use will telling Owen this story be? It won’t help the situation, and it won’t change the past. All it’ll do is make me annoyed and him feel guilty.
“I don’t remember,” I lie.
Sitting up, I pull the cover off my body and stand quickly before he can grip me in those mossy green eyes and I open my mouth to say all the things I really want to say, but won’t.
“Want a tea?”
Owen doesn’t answer. Instead, he raises his eyebrow, opens his mouth to say something before stopping himself, then saying, “Sure. I’m going to jump in the shower. We need to be at the police station in an hour.”
“I’ll remember to be the damsel in distress. We need to corroborate our story.”
He rubs his brow as if to ward off an impending headache.
“We can’t tell them about the assassination attempt,” he finally says.
“Good, we are on the same page. Because if we told them that, we’d have to explain my involvement, and well-paying the police is tiresome.”
“Good to know,” he replies, deadpan.
“Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not.” His eyes are wide.
“You are. I can see it in your goddamn eyes. You’ve done nothing but judge me since yesterday evening.”
The door handle hits the wall, bouncing back to close, leaving Owen in the bedroom. In the kitchen, I angrily press the button on the kettle, almost breaking the damn thing.
I take calming breaths whilst it boils like my own blood. My emotions are so extreme with him, I’m giving myself whiplash.
A hand rests on my shoulder, and I’m spun round quickly. Owen steps into my space, my body caged in the counter behind me.
I could get out of it easily, but I’m rendered frozen, completely captured by the green hue of his eyes.
I’m not Kara anymore.
No, I’m Lucy.
Held captive by everything that I had grown to love and hate.
“I am not judging you,” he says firmly, his body crowding mine. I step back, my bum hitting the counter. “All I want is to know the beautiful woman in front of me.”
I push his chest, anger overwhelming me, but he doesn’t move. He’s a wall of solid muscle.
“You lost that right the day you left me in that hell hole while you saved your own arse, leaving me to fucking rot.”
“That’s what you think?” he asks exasperated, shaking his head as sadness washes over him. “You think I had a choice? You don’t think that every second of every day, I feared for what happened to you? Do you honestly think so fucking little of me?”
