Page 153 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“Miss Katie,” I say gently, taking her hand. “Come. We go upstairs.”

She follows me upstairs and into his room. She knows this space. She moves through it, going straight to the bed and climbing in.

“Here, here,” I murmur. “Let me get you something to sleep in.”

I go to the closet, to the space Michael has made for her, the one I have been helping him fill. I open a drawer and take out a pajama set.

When I return, she hasn’t moved. I sit on the edge of the bed.

“Cara,” I say, my voice low, “we change, okay? You will sleep better.”

She sits up slowly, leaning against the headboard. Her eyes fall to the clothes in my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, already crying again. “Can I wear one of Michael’s shirts?”

“Ma certo,” I say immediately. “Of course. Anything you want.”

I go to Michael’s dresser and open his drawer, taking out one of his shirts. Katie lets me help her, lifting her shirt as I pull it away and slip Michael’s over her. She steps out of her pants and pulls on the soft silk ones I hand her. Then she covers my hand with hers.

“Thank you, Beatrice.”

“Yes, tesoro mio,” I tell her gently.

She lies back down, and I pull the covers up around her. I lean down and kiss her temple.

“He will be here soon,” I murmur. “You try to sleep.”

She swallows and closes her eyes. I go to the door and turn the light off before closing it behind me. Sal is standing on the other side.

“Do you need something?”

“Just keeping an eye out,” he responds.

“The girl doesn’t need someone watching her like a prisoner. Leave.”

His jaw tightens.

“Now.”

He walks on down the stairs, and I follow behind him. It is late, past eleven, and the house has settled into silence. Everything is done. Everyone has gone to bed. I sit in the foyer and wait for him. Sal stands by the door.

Forty-five minutes later, headlights sweep across the front. Sal is already opening the door when I stand. Michael steps out of the SUV without waiting for anyone. He moves quickly. When he sees me, his face softens just a little.

“Beatrice,” he says, taking off his jacket. “Where is she?”

“In your room,” I say, taking it from him.

He is already heading for the stairs.

“Michael.”

He stops and turns. As many times as he asks me to call him that, I do not often do it. I gesture to his holster. He looks down, removes it, and hands it to me. Then he leans in and kisses the side of my head.

Chapter 54

Michael

Iopen the door as softly as I can and step inside. The room is dark and still. I move quietly, unbuttoning my shirt as I go, letting it fall over a chair. I kick off my shoes, undo my belt, and slide out of my slacks. I don’t take my eyes off the bed.