Page 156 of Safe Word

Because Cain had come.

My eyes snapped open at the thought and it rang in my mind like a bell. I stared at the ceiling, my breath in my throat, held there.

Cain had saved my life.

I owed him so much – more than words, more than gratitude. But even as the weight of that realisation pressed down on me, there was something else, something warmer, blooming quietly in the space between my temples. Something about Cain, his presence, the way he’d looked at me as if I were worth protecting.

My cheeks flushed as I looked at the sunlight dancing on the walls, my hands curling into the soft sheet beneath me.

I couldn’t put the right label on us – friends, saviours, coworkers – but I knew one thing for certain: whatever this was, I wanted to hold onto it.

After the shower, I felt marginally more human. Hot water had a tendency to make me feel as if it could wash away the remnants of Travis’ terrors.

The room was already warming with the promise of an Italian late-spring day, the heat creeping quietly through the walls.

Grateful that I’d talked myself into shaving my legs yesterday morning, I slipped on a blue, long-sleeved dress, its fabric light enough to stave off the rising temperature but thick enough to cover the bruises. The hem reached just above my knees, and I was grateful I’d packed it. The small scarf went around my neck to conceal Ghost’s marks that still kept to my flesh.

The scent of coffee and something sweet greeted me as I padded barefoot into the open-plan area.

Cain stood at the stove, his back turned, his movements fluid but unhurried. His midnight long-sleeved T-shirt clung to his back, every movement rippling with muscle. His tracksuit bottoms hugged narrow hips, and my gaze lingered too long where the waistband hung.

Behind him, Vinnie sat in a white muscle shirt and cream linen trousers, bare feet hooked under the bar stool, staring at his steaming mug. His forefinger fiddled with the handle while he organised his thoughts behind that rarely serious face.

Cain glanced over his shoulder. His amber eyes glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window, ablaze as if lit from within.

‘Good morning,’ he said in a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the room – and me.

‘How are you doing, sweetheart?’ Vinnie slapped on that suave smile as he shifted sideways on the stool.

I managed a delayed ‘Good morning,’ my words a little shaky as I slid onto the barstool beside Vinnie.

The bar separated the kitchen from the rest of the near-cavernous space.

‘I hope you like crêpes,’ Cain added, flipping the last one with a slightly awkward motion before stacking it on a small mountain of golden, paper-thin layers. ‘I’ve added cinnamon. There’s fresh coffee in the moka pot.’ He nodded towards the counter as he shut off the stove and wiped his hands on a tea towel.

‘I got it,’ Vinnie said, already shuffling through the mugs.

My stomach growled softly at the sight.

‘Thanks,’ I replied, my voice slightly more consistent this time.

‘Did you get any sleep?’ Cain asked, his tone casual, but his brow quirked in a way that made my skin prickle.

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. ‘I have.’

Vinnie shook his head, his grin both mischievous and infuriating.

‘We’ll take good care of you,’ he said. ‘You look better. That bruise, though…’ He pointed at my temple and cheekbone. ‘It’ll stick around for a week, at least.’

Placing the mug of hot coffee in front of me, he withdrew.

I wrapped my hands around it, letting the warmth bleed into my palms. The scent curled up in faint steam ribbons, earthy and bitter, grounding me more than the caffeine ever could. I must’ve drifted off for longer than I realised, because when I looked up, the tension in the room had changed.

‘I’ll be off,’ Vinnie said suddenly, pushing off from the counter. He and Cain exchanged one of those silent male telepathies I hadn’t yet learnt how to translate.

Then Vinnie slowed his gait towards the exit. ‘You’ll hate me for this, but there’s an interview this afternoon. New York Times. Low-key, no cameras.’

He hesitated, his eyes catching on my bruised brow, then Cain – at the way he leaned closer to me, the softened tone he used.