Logan’s gaze dropped to her, and after a moment, he glanced at Jake. “Understood. Call if you need anything.”
“Thanks, bro.” Jake’s voice softened. “Seriously.”
Logan lifted a hand. “Part of the brotherly job description.” He touched her hair gently. “Night, sugar.”
“Good night, Logan,” Kallie managed. “Thank you.”
She bent to stroke Thor’s soft fur and whisper, “Thank you, Thor.” He licked her cheek. Logan stopped to speak to Virgil briefly; then he and Thor climbed into his vehicle.
As the sound of Logan’s truck faded, Virgil left the police and walked over. “You’re free to go, Jake, but you’ll need to come in to the station tomorrow to give a statement.”
“I appreciate the reprieve, but I’m not leaving yet. I’ll help Kallie shower, and then-”
Kallie’s mouth dropped open even as Virg’s brows lowered, and he said, “Not going to happen.”
“Which one of you men will help her?” Jake glanced down at her. “I’ve seen her naked before, you know.”
Kallie stiffened. “Jake, dammit.”
Red stained Virgil’s face, and he ran his hand through his hair. “Hell. Fine.”
“Afterward, I’d appreciate if you could get everyone into the living room.”
“For what, exactly?” Virg asked sarcastically.
“We’re going to discuss some misguided perceptions and sacrificial lambs.”
Kallie had lost track of the conversation as she tried to keep her legs from buckling.
Virgil said slowly, “I didn’t like that either. But”-he glanced over at the other cops-“later?”
“Right now. At this time, we might be able to get through. Maybe. Not later.”
“What are you two talking about?” Kallie asked, locking her knees.
Virgil didn’t answer. He studied her for a second. “I can take some time if I make a quick report to the chief. I’ll leave clean clothes for you outside Kallie’s door, and we’ll see you downstairs.”
“Good.” When Jake turned Kallie toward the house, she stumbled. With a huff of laughter, he scooped her into his arms. “You’re exhausted, sprite. Where’s your room?”
“Nope.”
As Jake hauled her across the yard, she saw Virgil intercept Wyatt and Morgan before they could get to her.
Despite his limp, Jake carried her all the way up the stairs. After setting her on her feet, he flipped on the lights in her bedroom and looked around.
She sighed. She’d left her new red underwear on the dark blue carpet, flannel shirts tossed over the desk chair, a stack of books beside the bed. In one corner, a table held her carving tools and projects…and shavings circled the area like snow. Martha Stewart would cringe. “Sorry about the mess.”
“As long as the bed fits us both, I’m happy.”
The thought of not being alone… She leaned her forehead against his chest. “Thank you. For staying.”
He shook his head. “No thanks needed, but we definitely have some talking to do. For now, let’s clean up.”
“I shower alone.” She caught the amusement in his eyes and glared at him.
“Uh-uh, little sub,” he murmured. He pulled her against him, careful but firm. “Are you allowed to glare at your dom?”
As if she hadn’t spoken, he brushed his lips across hers. “Shower, sprite,” he whispered.
In her bathroom, he looked around slowly. “Nice.”
“The guys remodeled it when I was fourteen.” She’d lived with them for only six months and had expected them to send her away at any time. But when her history class had gone on a three-day field trip, she’d returned to find it like this. Pale blue floral wallpaper, dark blue countertop, amazing lighting. A walk-in shower with delicate flowers decorating the tile. An oversize tub. A very feminine bathroom-they’d done it just for her. Like she was going to stay. When the four big men had beamed at her, she’d almost cried.
Over the years, she’d changed very little. In this one place, she could believe she was a woman, not one of the boys.
“It suits you, sweetheart,” Jake said and efficiently divested her of her dirty, bloody clothing.
He opened the smoky glass shower door and turned on the water. Steam rose in the cool air. Jake stripped and stepped into the shower with her, never letting go of her arm.
As the spray hit her, she sighed. So warm.
Jake washed her carefully, his big hands gentle on her scrapes and sore spots. He growled at the undoubtedly huge bruise in the center of her back. She remembered the feel of Andrew’s boot, his weight on her, and cringed.
“Shhh, Kalinda, it’s over.” He moved on, washing thoroughly, not turning it into anything sexual, then washed her hair. Afterward he scrubbed himself down, and the fragrance of her herbal soap mingled with his masculine scent.
He dried her as carefully as he’d washed her.
“I can do it myself,” she protested. “I live here, so I should be taking care of you.” She tried to take the towel.
“Not this time. Your turn will come.”
Ignoring her protests, he tucked her into her heavy terrycloth bathrobe and ran a finger down her cheek. “It pleases me to care for you, sprite. I came too close to losing you.” His eyes darkened, and he pulled her into his arms, squeezing the breath from her. “God, that was too close.”
When he released her, she clung for a moment, then pushed away and stood on her own. If only she didn’t feel so damn tired. And shaky.
Jake retrieved the black sweatpants and T-shirt that Virgil had left at her door and dressed quickly. Ignoring her objections, he scooped her up again to carry her downstairs.
She seemed to weigh nothing in his embrace and felt almost fragile. Precious. Every time he remembered how she’d knelt and offered herself to save Virgil, his anger flared, and he wanted to kill the bastard again.
The living room was empty, the silence broken only by the faint noise of people in the kitchen and the ticking of a mantel clock. After glancing around, he chose an oversize chair and then settled Kallie on his lap so she could lean against his chest.
Morgan must have heard them. He crossed the room to yell out the front door for his brother, and a minute later, Virgil came in, filthy and exhausted.
From the kitchen, Wyatt brought mugs of hot chocolate. Jake took one and set it on the adjacent table, then accepted the other and sipped to check the temperature. Just right and liberally laced with Baileys Irish Cream.
“Here you go, sprite,” he said, letting her curl her fingers around the mug but keeping a grip when her hands trembled. She closed her eyes as she sipped, and her long eyelashes made a dark smudge against her pale cheeks. His heart contracted. He wanted to take her upstairs and simply hold her.
But he was also her dom, whether she’d accepted it or not. Much like intense BDSM scenes, painful, frightening events could uncover tears in the soul. Somewhere, something in her past had
