“Okay.”
I turn and look at her. The sight of her in my shirt does something feral to me.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod, reaching toward her slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
The second my hand touches her face, wiping away her tears, something inside my chest cracks wide open.
Her eyes close briefly as I brush away a tear with my thumb. “You are not something bad that happens to people, Peyton.”
The room falls painfully quiet.
Then suddenly, she throws herself against me hard enough to nearly knock me backward on the mattress.
I catch her automatically.
And the second she curls against my chest, shaking, every protective instinct inside me turns absolutely lethal.
I know Landon can’t get to her here.
But I’ll be damned if I let anyone else get close enough to hurt her again.
50
PEYTON
I wake up disoriented.
For one blissfully peaceful second, I don’t remember the nightmare.
Then I feel the warmth pressed solidly against my side.
My eyes blink open slowly... and land on Daltyn.
Oh no.
At some point during the night, I apparently fell asleep half on top of him like an emotionally unstable weighted blanket.
One of his massive arms is wrapped around my waist while my face is buried against his chest.
His warm chest smells like body wash, a hint of sweat, and safety.
Which honestly explains absolutely nothing about why I’m suddenly incapable of breathing normally.
My brain short-circuits when I realize my hand is wrapped around something hard. Very hard.
I glance down, realizing my hand is wrapped around his hard-on like I’m afraid he’ll disappear.
It’s mortifying.
I should let go.
And I will.
In a minute.
