Her hand slides across my stomach, fingers resting there. Her thumb moves once, slow, deliberate.
“I thought if I stopped running, everything would catch up to me,” she says.
“It might.”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“But you’re not alone in it.” Her body shifts slightly closer, her cheek heavy against my chest.
“How are you so calm about this?” she asks.
“I’m not.”
She tilts her head again. “You seem like it.”
“When you told me what happened… when I saw the gun, and you said that man had been here. In our house, trying to hurt you…” I work hard to steady my voice. But really, I want topunch a fucking wall. “Can’t think about that too much. About anything ever happening to you.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “That’s how I feel about you, you know,” she whispers. “Though it makes no sense at all. Though we still have so much to learn about each other.”
“That’s one of the many parts I’m looking forward to,” I confess, voice low. “Getting to know you inside and out. Every inch of you.”
I don’t mean it sexually, but it comes out all wrong. She gets it, though, somehow.
Her fingers glide over my chest, dancing playfully over my muscles. A light touch. Whisper touch. But it does crazy things to my pulse.
“I’m not used to men who stay,” she says softly.
Something tightens in my chest at that. I don’t say anything right away. I just tighten my arm around her a fraction. “You can get used to it,” I say finally.
Her breath hitches. Just a little. “That sounds… dangerous.”
“Only if I don’t mean it.”
She’s quiet for a long second. “I think you do.”
“I do.” I don’t over-embellish it. Go poetic or anything. I keep it simple because it’s the goddamned truth.
And it’s not going to change.
She chuckles softly to herself.
I bring a hand up, stroking her hair. “What are you laughing at?”
“Just thinking back on how Dallas described you at the auction. A steady man, a quiet one. A guy who sticks. I’ve been telling myself ever since the auction that I bid on you because you looked strong and safe. Like a man who could protect me.” Her palm rests flat over my heart, measuring each beat. “But maybe I was also curious about what a man who stays looks like.”
I snag her chin, tipping it up until her big black eyes settle on me. “Not sure what he looks like, but I know what he’s called,” I say slow and steady.
“Husband.”
There it is again. The word I can’t get enough of.
She exhales again. And this time—something in her fully lets go. Just enough that her weight settles heavier against me.
Trust.
That’s what this is.
I press my mouth lightly to the top of her head. “You should rest,” I murmur.
