“Who?” Kenta asks firmly. “Who do you want with you?”
My eyes flick to Glen. “You don’t have to,” I say. “This is pretty above your pay grade.”
He stands. “You pay us to make you feel safe, lass,” he rumbles, picking his way across the carpet. “C’mon. Get in.”
He holds open my bedroom door, and I head back inside. The room is dark, cut through by moonlight, but the shadows don’t seem as deep with Glen standing behind me like a guard dog. We’re still for a moment, then I nod to the bed.
“You can undress,” I tell him. “You don’t have to sleep in your trousers.”
He hesitates, then slowly unbuttons his shirt. As he shucks it off, I see more scars striping up the skin of his upper arms. I turn to the bed just as he reaches for his belt, flipping up the covers and sliding under the quilt. There’s a zipping sound behind me, then the rumple of cloth as Glen’s pants fall to the ground. I feel the mattress dip as he climbs into bed next to me. I lie there for a few seconds, my heart beating in my throat.
I don’t remember the last time I slept with a man. I’m not a massive fan of sex, and when I do have it, the last thing I want is the guy sticking around afterwards. But right now, here in the dark, the feeling of having him so close is better than I could ever have imagined.
“Is this okay?” Glen asks quietly.
I nod, rolling a bit closer. I’m so close that I can smell him. His deep foresty scent curls through my veins, softening my thoughts far better than the Xanax did. For the first time in a week, my brain finally gives in to the heavy, pressing exhaustion, slowing down and whirring to a stop. I curl up, putting my head by his pillow, and let the steady sound of his breathing lull me to sleep.
Seventeen
Glen
?
I lie as still as possible, watching a thin beam of sunlight slide through the room. As the minutes go by, the strip of yellow light moves slowly across the carpet, then the bed, until it’s finally cutting a line over Briar’s cheek, lighting up her hair in bright strands of gold.
I’ve barely slept all night. I couldn’t. I felt too bad.
We screwed up yesterday.
I remember the raw fear in Briar’s face when I found her sprawled on the bathroom floor, and suppress a shudder. We’ve been doing this far too long to not notice when a client is in distress. It was a real shock to see her so fragile last night; an even bigger shock when she asked me to stay with her. I assumed she’d pick one of the other two. Kenta would be the obvious option, and even though she and Matt fight, it’s obvious that they’re attracted to each other. I don’t know why any woman would invite some giant, scarred Hulk into her bed. But she picked me. She didn’t even hesitate.
I don’t understand it.
She stirs. Her plump lips part, and a soft breath flutters a strand of hair off her cheek. Slowly, her big eyes blink open, batting a few times before they focus on me.
“Morning,” I mumble.
She stretches slowly, a soft noise escaping her lips as she rolls out her tight muscles. Great. I thought one advantage of staying up all night would be the lack of morning wood, but apparently, that’s not going to happen.
“Morning,” she murmurs, then slumps back onto the pillow, looking at me. Her eyes run over my face, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are. Just a few inches apart. I can see every detail of her face: the soft, smooth skin, the long lashes, the tiny sprinkle of gold freckles across the bridge of her nose. I’m so enchanted it takes me a second to realise that she can see every detail of my face, too.
Shit.
I turn to look at the ceiling, but her hand suddenly flies out, catching my jaw. Everything in me goes still as the pads of her soft fingers rub into my stubble. “Why do you do that?” She whispers, her voice husky and low from sleep.
“Do what?”
She twists her head, showing me her cheek. “Turn away. You always hide your scar from me.”
I frown. “I didn’t know I was doing that.”
“Sometimes, I think you don’t. But you did, just then. I saw it on your face.”
I shrug. “I assumed you wouldn’t want to look at it, I suppose.”
Her eyes narrow. “Well, Idowant to look at it,” she snips, tugging my jaw towards her. Her fingertips trace over my cheek, just a millimetre from touching me. “Can I touch?”
I can’t speak. I give a tiny nod. Her fingers smooth over the scar, feeling the bumpy, ragged texture.
