The curve of her cheek.
The way her lashes fan against her skin.
The small scar on her chin that I didn't notice before—probably from Cain, probably from one of a hundred times he put his hands on her.
She's beautiful.
I noticed that before, in an abstract way, the way you notice the weather or the color of the sky.
But this is different. This is personal. This is dangerous.
What the fuck are you doing, Levi?
I don't have an answer.
I've been with plenty of women over the years.
Clubwhores, one-night stands, the occasional girlfriend who never lasted more than a few months.
I learned early on that relationships don't work for men like me.
We're too hard, too closed off, too damaged by the things we've seen and done.
Better to keep things simple.
Physical. No strings, no feelings, no vulnerability.
Last night wasn't simple.
Last night was... I don't even have words for what last night was.
Intense. Raw. Necessary in a way I didn't understand.
She came apart in my arms, and watching her—feeling her—something shifted in my chest.
Something I thought was dead.
I wanted to protect her.
Not just from Cain, not just from the world, but from everything that had ever hurt her.
I wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe and make sure no one ever touched her again.
That's not how I think. That's not who I am.
But with her, I don't seem to have a choice.
Ripley stirs, making a soft sound in her sleep.
Her hand curls tighter against my chest, and she nuzzles closer, seeking warmth.
The movement is so trusting, so unconscious, that something in my throat tightens.
She trusts me.
After everything she's been through, after three years of learning that trust is just another weapon men use against her, she trusts me.
I don't know if I deserve that trust.
