Suddenly, his muscular frame is in front of me, blocking my path to the exit. His sharply tailored black shirt fills my vision; I can’t bring myself to look directly at him.
“I’m fine,” I say with a breezy wave of my uninjured hand. “I’m just going home.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” His broad palm appears between us, facing up in clear expectation. “Show me your hand, Abigail.”
I blow out a sigh, and my shoulders slump again. I’m too exhausted to fight him. If I just appease him quickly, I can make my escape.
Even if the prospect of enduring his touch makes my heart beat against my ribs almost painfully. I try to ignore the bruisingtenderness at the center of my chest and place my hand in his waiting palm.
His clinician’s fingers are featherlight on my stinging, bright red skin. They’re blissfully smooth and cool on my enflamed flesh.
“How did this happen?”
I shrug. “I wasn’t paying attention, and I burned the milk I was steaming. It was a silly mistake.”
He releases a low hum and turns my hand, inspecting every inch of it.
“I’m taking you home,” he announces. “I can treat this properly there.”
My jaw drops, and my eyes finally snap to his.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” I say before I can fully consider my words. “You were so angry with me. Why are you helping me?”
“I came here to see you, Abigail. But I want to talk in private.” He boldly cups my cheek as though he has every right, gently lifting my face to study the signs of exhaustion. “I should’ve come sooner. But you’re right. I was angry.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, regret tightening my throat around the apology. “I didn’t want to upset you. That’s the last thing I wanted.”
His jaw firms, but he nods. “I think I understand. Let’s go somewhere we can talk. Come on.”
He wraps his arm around my hunched shoulders and steers me out of the café. His other hand holds his phone, and he opens an app to call a car for us. We stand under the bright Carolina sun for a few quiet minutes, and I close my eyes. My lids are so heavy, and now that Dane is touching me again, I finally feel safe enough to rest.
A black sedan arrives, and he helps me into the backseat before getting in on the other side. His arm is around myshoulders again, and he applies gentle pressure to encourage me to lean on him.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
My eyes sting, so I close them again to hold in the flood of relief that wets my lashes with tears. I inhale his unique, heady scent and allow my body to fully relax for the first time since he stormed out of my apartment.
I’m not sure how many minutes pass, and I think I might’ve drifted off for a while because we’re suddenly coming to a stop.
Shock renders me mute when Dane drops a quick kiss on my forehead. “Stay.”
The world turns surreal, and everything is fuzzy at the edges. He’s opening my car door for me. I take his waiting hand with my uninjured one, and he helps me to my feet. He’s every inch the charming, chivalrous gentleman, and I can’t help swooning for him all over again.
His presence is a miracle, a blessed mercy after days of self-loathing and regret.
His palm spans my lower back as he confidently directs me to the sidewalk. Our physical connection hits me like a lightning strike, and my heart throbs in a painful, heavy rhythm. I want to be with this man more than anything. I thought I’d ruined everything, but there might still be a chance for us.
He leads me to the hunter green door on a white house with matching green shutters. I blink and glance around to get my bearings. We’re in Harleston Village, a nice neighborhood across town from my apartment.
“I thought you said you were taking me home.”
His dazzling smile hits me square in the chest. “I am. This is my home.”
He unlocks the door, and it swings open to reveal a large entry hall. My breath catches when I see the painting that dominates the white wall directly in front of us.
“Dane…” His name is little more than a tremor on my lips.
He closes the door behind us and ushers me forward, guiding me down the hall until the painting fills my vision.
