Flynn leaned back in his chair, stretching sore shoulders. “That’s our job, then. To know.”
Heather felt a slow, fierce heat spread in her chest. “We need to leave soon.”
His eyes softened. “If yer ready, lass.”
She nodded. She was terrified. And ready.
When the planning slowed and the fire settled into glowing coals, Heather rose to stretch, instinctively reaching for her jacket. The bruise along her side flared; she hissed softly, palm pressing there without thinking.
Flynn saw.
“Come here,” he said, voice low.
She stepped between his knees where he sat, the space familiar… intimate. His hands came to her hips automatically, then stopped when his gaze dropped from her eyes to her waist.
He carefully lifted the hem of her shirt, just enough to see her purple and yellow fading bruises.
Proof of hands that weren’t his.
Proof of hands thathurther.
Flynn didn’t touch at first; he hovered his fingertips above the aching spots.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked quietly.
“A little.”
Flynn’s jaw tightened.
“I hate that he touched you.”
The words weren’t loud; they didn’t need to be.
Heather cupped his face in her hands and brushed her thumb across the stubbled line of his jaw.
“I’m fine.” she insisted. “I’m still here.”
Flynn’s eyes lifted to hers.
“Aye… but I need to see you.” he mumbled.
Something in his tone made her heart squeeze as she brushed her fingers through his mussed hair.
“Flynn—”
He rose slowly, hands sliding to her waist.
“Come with me.” he whispered.
She didn’t hesitate as his hand settled at the small of her back and led her down the short stone hall to his bedroom. The door closed behind them with a light thud that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
Heather’s gaze flicked instinctively to the bed as a warm blush crept up her neck.
God. Don’t think about that.
But it was too late, because Flynn clocked it immediately.
The corner of his mouth quirked up knowingly.
