I could call Clara.Or Sophie.But neither of them could fix this.Neither of them could make me feel safe.Neither of them could chase away the shadows that had taken up residence in my head.
Only one person had done that.And I hated that it was true.
I was out of bed before I made a conscious decision.Down the stairs, the floor cold under my bare feet.Through the hallway, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.His study door was closed, warm light leaking from the gap at the bottom.
My hand rose to knock.
The door opened before I could.
He stood in the doorway, dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it.His eyes found mine immediately, dark and intent, reading the fear I couldn’t hide.
He didn’t speak.Didn’t ask questions.Just stepped aside and let me in.
“I couldn’t sleep.”My voice sounded small.Lost.Nothing like the woman who had demanded his body last night, who had used him to burn away her fear.
He closed the door behind me.
The study was warm, a fire burning low in the grate, casting dancing shadows across the leather furniture and the dark wood paneling.His desk was covered in papers, a half-empty glass of whiskey beside his laptop.He had been working.Or waiting.
Maybe both.
“I don’t…” I stopped.Swallowed.Started again.“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“I know.”
The same words he had said last night.But different now.Last night they’d been acknowledgment, acceptance of what I was using him for.Tonight they sounded like permission.Like understanding.
He moved toward me slowly.Giving me time to refuse.His hand rose to cup my face, and I waited for the instinct to flinch, to pull away, to reject the tenderness I wasn’t ready for.
It didn’t come.
His palm was warm against my cheek.His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, slow and gentle, and my defenses gave way.A fissure in the wall I had built between us.
I could feel his eyes on me, dark and patient, waiting to see what I would do.Last night I had pushed him onto his back and used his body like a weapon.Tonight I had nothing left to fight with.Just the cold ashes of grief and terror, and the desperate need to feel something other than alone.
I leaned into his touch.
His expression changed.Careful.Like a man holding his breath.
He didn’t push.Didn’t take.Just stood there with his hand on my face and let me set the pace, the way he had last night, the way he did everything with me now.Waiting.Patient.As if I was worth waiting for.
I kissed him.
Soft this time.Not the angry collision of last night, but slower.Searching.His lips parted under mine, and I tasted whiskey and warmth, and my throat went tight.
He led me through the hallway to his bedroom.The sheets were clean, the bed made with military precision, but his scent was everywhere.
This time was different.
He undressed me slowly, his hands gentle where they had been urgent before.I let him.Let myself be touched without demanding, without controlling, without hiding behind the physical to avoid the emotional.His mouth traced down my neck, and I shivered, but not from the cold.
His fingers found the hem of my shirt and lifted it over my head with a reverence that made my breath catch.He looked at me like I was something worth memorizing.Like he wanted to map every inch of skin and commit it to memory in case I never let him this close again.
I reached for him.Unbuttoned his shirt with hands that trembled, not from fear but from the terrifying intimacy of wanting this.Wanting him.Not as a weapon or a distraction, but as a man I was beginning to trust.
When he lowered me onto the bed, his weight settled over me like shelter.His mouth found mine again, and this kiss was different.Unhurried.Thorough.He kissed me like we had all the time in the world, like there was nothing waiting outside this room, no murder investigation, no mysterious threat, no complicated history between us.
His hand slid down my body, and I arched into his touch.He knew exactly where to press, where to stroke, where to linger until my breath came in gasps and my fingers dug into his shoulders.But he didn’t rush.Every touch was deliberate, patient, drawing out the pleasure until I was shaking with it.
