A minute later, they reached the SUV. Laine had to let go of Emmy so she could get into the back seat. Roarke held Emmy against his side, standing with the car door open, and Laine froze as she watched the two of them: this man, who’d had her heart for longer than she could remember, and her baby, who was literally a piece of her.
Roarke gently wiped the tears off Emmy’s cheek, his knuckles ridiculously large against her tiny face. “I don’t want you to be scared anymore. It’s all over.”
Emmy sniffed and nodded. “Is my dad dead?”
Roarke blinked and flicked his gaze to Laine.
She tensed. There was no way to sugarcoat what’d happened. Telling Emmy anything other than the obvious would only upset and confuse her more.
“Yeah, kiddo. I’m sorry. He was going to hurt you or your mom and ... I won’t let that happen. Ever.”
She blinked in awe. Roarke understood how to handle Emmy—how to lessen the blow while still being honest.
Emmy wrapped her little arms around his neck. “I knew you’d come.” The words carried on the breeze to Laine’s ears. So soft, yet so honest and pure.
He cupped the back of her head. “You know it, toughy.”
She let out a little snort-laugh, and Laine smiled.
“Got somethin’ for ya.” He reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out her stuffed animal.
Laine’s heart swelled in her chest. Not an ounce of space was left even for a breath.
“You got Big Bun!” Emmy squealed, hugging the animal tightly. “I thought she was gone forever.” New tears streamed down her face.
Roarke kissed her forehead. “Big Bun ranks up there with you and your mom. And what’d I just say? I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”
He picked up the stuffy’s wounded foot. “She’s got a bit of an owie. We’ll sew her up and she’ll be good as new.”
Emmy shrugged, clearly just happy to have her animal back. She hugged him again, then hurtled herself onto the seat. Laine wrapped one of the guy’s shirts around Emmy’s shoulders then turned to Roarke.
He leaned his arm against the doorframe of the SUV. The breadth of his chest and shoulders almost blocked out the sky. Tenderness shone in his eyes, and the frown lines in his forehead ran deeper than the ditch behind him. He lifted his free hand and grazed her cheek with his thumb. “He hit you again.” The words came out strangled. Pissed.
She swallowed but didn’t comment. She didn’t need a mirror to know what she looked like. “You found me,” she whispered.
She dropped her head to his chest. He splayed his large hand over the nape of her neck and kissed her hair.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he breathed, pulling her into a tighter hug.
Her heart swelled. They were all here. Together. She and Emmy and Roarke. Days, weeks, months, or years could change things—could make them strangers again. For now, she wouldn’t go there. She’d hold on to this moment and this man before any outside forces ripped him away.
She heard Viper open the door on the opposite side of the car and offer Emmy some snacks. She’d have to thank him for distracting her.
“I never thought I’d see you or Emmy again.” The admission seeped from her lips. She wanted to swallow it, to hide from how close to death she’d been, but she couldn’t.
Roarke tipped back her chin. His hazel eyes ensnared her, stealing her breath. Together, the blue, green, and brown of his irises formed a heart-stopping cocktail. And those orbs saw everything—there was no hiding from Roarke. With him, she was fully exposed.
And dammit, that’s exactly how she wanted it. For better or worse.
“I wouldn’t have let that happen.” His face came devastatingly closer. Another two inches and his lips would be on hers. “Because I fucking love you.”
She inhaled through her teeth. Her heart rate worked overtime. Thank god she was sitting, otherwise her weak knees would’ve taken her out.
A deep quake took hold of her bones. If he noticed, he didn’t react to her trembling. His eyes swept over her face, still cradled in his massive, gentle hold. Words stalled at the back of her tongue. There was so much she needed to say.
Thank you. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave us.
She failed to give a single proclamation life, too numb to speak.
