He cautiously ran a hand down her back. When she murmured but didn’t pull away from him, he scooped her up into his arms. For a second, she went rigid, and he braced for her to come up swinging. But instead, she blindsided him for the second timetonight and snuggled against his chest with her face pressed into the side of his neck.
“Rowan.”
The breathy sigh that was his name sent a ripple of heat through his veins. Determined to ignore it, he carried her toward his room and tucked her into his bed before stepping back. He settled into the recliner in the corner of the room.
If watching her sleep makes me a creep, then I’m sure the guys can figure out an appropriate nickname for that, too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The scent of leather,gun oil, and pine soap snuck into Enya’s dreams, wrapped up in something warm and earthy and male. Her eyes snapped open, and she was greeted with darkness and the feeling of cloth covering her head. Overwhelming panic seized her by the throat.
Kidnapped.
Shack.
Bag over my head.
She scrambled to free herself, her breath hitching in a ragged gasp as her hands flailed against soft fabric, removing it from her head. She blinked at her hands in confusion, and it took her a moment to recognize the material as blankets and sheets. There was a mattress beneath her, firm but yielding. It wasn’t the dirt of the shack or the hard planks of the horse trailer floor from her nightmares.
Where—?
Her memory crashed back in, reminding her of the frantic drive as she escaped the safety of home. Getting lost and finding her way. Climbing the gates of Stronghold and the blinding pain in her ankle when she toppled most of the way down on the other side.
She remembered the low rumble of his voice cutting through her panic and making the coffee that was sweet enough to give her a sugar rush. What she didn’t remember was how she made it from the kitchen to here. The last thing she remembered was Rowan talking to her dad.
The panic receded, leaving a shaky, hollow feeling behind. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing as the movement pulled at her stiff muscles. Weak sunlight filtered through a gap in heavy curtains, painting a pale stripe across a room that was… sparse, utilitarian even. There was a large, dark wood dresser. A sturdy desk with a messy stack of papers and a closed laptop. Framed photographs of men in uniform and horses on the walls. This place had almost no clutter, and the only softness was the bed itself. It felt like a soldier’s quarters. Safe and contained, but alien to anything she’d ever known.
Oh crap.
If I’m at Stronghold, am I in Rowan Salieri’s bed?
If she were, maybe she should just pull the blankets back over her head and hope this was all a dream or some kind of alternate universe. Because losing her mind and driving all the way here in the dead of night was more than a little out there, even for her.
You can’t just hide away in his bed.
But god, she wanted to.
Instead, she threw back the blankets and swung her legs around. Wincing as she got to her feet, she hobbled to the bedroom door and hesitated to gather her courage and open it.
Two dogs came running in a blur of blue merle and white, their barks sharp and demanding. Enya froze in the doorway, her pulse spiking. The bigger one skidded to a halt three feet away with his hackles raised. The smaller, lighter one approached her ankles as if he wanted to sneak into the room while the door was open.
Rowan’s voice cut through the racket, calm but firm. “Dudes, knock it off.” He appeared at the far end of the hall, barefoot with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His gaze flicked over her rumpled clothes, wild hair, and how she clutched the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright, and something unreadable crossed his face before he shuttered it. “Morning. Or rather, afternoon.”
“Um,” Enya’s throat went dry. “Hi.”
He jerked his chin toward a door across the hall. “Bathroom’s there. There’s a new toothbrush under the sink, some of my mom’s spare stuff. Help yourself.” He paused and cocked his head to one side, then jerked his chin over his shoulder. “Kitchen’s in here when you’re done.”
The dogs still bristled, but followed Rowan when he gave a sharp whistle as he disappeared into the kitchen.
Enya waited until they were all out of sight before she crossed the hall. The bathroom door creaked when she pushed it open, and fluorescent light flickered on, harsh and unflattering. The mirror over the sink was merciless.
OH. I look like a troll. No wonder he stayed at the kitchen door.
Her reflection stared back at her. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and her hair was a tangled rat’s nest. She looked like what she was: a woman who’d been broken, patched up, and left to rattle around trying to figure out where the pieces of her life fit anymore.
God, I’m a mess.
She turned on the shower before she could second-guess it, and the water hissed to life, warming the small room. She stripped, wincing as the fabric pulled at scabbed-over scrapes on her from the gate. Her ankle throbbed, but she ignored it. The first spray of hot water made her flinch, but she forced herself under it, letting it sluice over her face, her shoulders, the knots of tension in her neck. This wasn’t the first shower since she’d been back. But it was the first one she’d chosen to have herself without her mom pushing her in under the water.
