He stills. “Faith,” he says, voice low and calm, “you don’t have to say that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I rush out, cheeks flaming. “I just meant… I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”
He studies me again, head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to read between the lines.
Then his voice softens. “How old are you now?”
I meet his gaze. “Eighteen.”
“Just turned?”
I nod. “Last week.”
Something flickers across his face—regret, maybe. Or a warning. He doesn’t look at me like a girl. He looks at me like fire and if he touches me, he’ll burn.
I know what he’s thinking. I’m too young. Too innocent. Too broken.
He’s probably right.
But I also know when Nigel looked at me, I felt sick and small. Like I was prey.
When Hayden looks at me… I feel like me again. Protected and something else that makes heat curl low in my belly and spreads like a secret.
A strange tingling awareness. A pull I don’t understand. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, leaning ever so slightly in his direction.
I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not ever.
He must see something in my eyes because he shifts, pulling a blanket off the back of the chair and tossing it onto the couch.
“Go get some sleep,” he says gruffly. “I’ll be right here.”
“Okay.” I rise from the chair, unsure of what to do with my hands. “Thank you again. For letting me stay. For… everything.”
“You’re safe now,” he says simply.
Hope blooms in my chest, and I want to believe it.
4
HAYDEN
My spine’s fucked.
The couch groans as I unfold from it like I’ve aged thirty years overnight. My neck pops. My back twinges. One of my legs went numb halfway through the night and I’m still not sure if it’s forgiven me.
Definitely slept in worse places, I told her.
Doesn’t mean I wasn’t lying through my damn teeth.
I rub a hand over my face, then drag it through my hair. The first grey light of dawn seeps in through the edge of the blackout curtains. The room’s quiet except for her breathing.
The covers fall over her just enough to tempt a man like me to sin. I take the few steps from the couch to the bed. And there she is—dimpled thigh resting on the duvet, soft hair spilled across my pillow, wearing one of my t-shirts. Even with her full figure, it swallows her whole, hanging off her like a dress, sliding off one bare shoulder.
Her cheeks peek from beneath the hem, round and soft. The kind of curves that make a man forget how to think.
She shifts slightly, mumbling in her sleep. Her brow furrows.
I don’t move. Not until her eyes blink open, soft and slow.
