"Only if you stay."
"I'm not going anywhere."
He lay back slowly, carefully, and I helped him settle. Then I lay down beside him—not at the edge of the bed this time, but close enough that I felt his warmth. Close enough that if I reached out, I could touch him.
His hand found mine in the darkness.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?"
"For caring." His fingers laced through mine. "For worrying. For being here."
My throat went tight. "You're welcome."
Silence settled over us. But it wasn't empty. It was full of all the things we weren't saying.
I lay there in the dark, holding his hand, listening to his breathing even out as exhaustion finally claimed him.
And then it hit me.
Not gently. Not gradually.
Like a fist to the sternum.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs—once, twice, a frantic rhythm that hadn't to do with fear and everything to do with the realization crystallizing in my chest.
I cared about him.
Not just attraction. Not just gratitude for protection. Not the desperate clinging of someone who needs to survive. I cared about him—deeply, dangerously, in the way that made you stupid and vulnerable.
My hand trembled slightly in his. I felt his pulse against my palm—steady, strong, alive—and the sensation made my chest constrict until I could only gasp.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I was supposed to kill Hewes and walk away. No attachments. No vulnerabilities. No one who could be used against me ever again.
But now I had something to lose.
His breathing had settled into the deep, even rhythm of sleep. I felt the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth radiating from his body, the solid reality of him beside me in the dark. Safe. Alive. Mine in some way I didn't have words for yet.
And I would do anything to keep him that way.
Chapter 9
Merrilee
I couldn't sleep.
We lay in the darkness, his hand still holding mine, his breathing deep and even. I'd thought he was asleep—hoped he was, because his body needed rest more than it needed anything else right now.
But then his thumb moved against my palm. Just a small circle. Deliberate.
"You're thinking too loud," he said quietly.
A surprised laugh escaped me. "What?"
"I can hear you thinking." His voice was rough with exhaustion but tinged with something that might have been amusement. "Your thoughts are so loud they're keeping me awake."
