He stilled. “Who told you that?”
Another shrug. “I heard it on the bus. So it’s true? Is that why she’s staying with us?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you talking about it in front of her. It’ll upset her.”
“What if the burglar comes here, though?”
He recognized that tone in Emma’s voice, which could so easily blossom into full-blown anxiety. Turning to look her in the eye, he said, “That won’t happen. I promise. You know I’ll keep you safe, right?”
Emma didn’t look totally convinced, but he made sure to distract her with helping with dinner to make her forget her fear. It worked—at least for now.
Chapter Eleven
When Kat woke up, it was already dark out. She fumbled for her phone and groaned at the time displayed: nine o’clock. Now she’d never sleep. She stared up at the ceiling, dimly registering that she’d somehow ended up in Gavin’s bed, and not for the reasons she would’ve preferred.
Sighing, she rose and went into the living room, where she found Gavin reading. He looked up when she entered.
“How are you feeling?” He got up to lead her to the couch.
“Tired, but I’ll be okay.” Embarrassment made her edgy. She hadn’t cried like that in front of someone since her mom had died. Kat wished she could bury herself underneath a rock and maybe hide there for the foreseeable future. When she glanced at Gavin, she saw that his expression was full of concern, and she had to admit, it made her even antsier.
“I think I’ll go home tomorrow,” she said out of the blue. She hadn’t even thought about it, but she needed distance. Time. Space to think about what the hell she was doing. Having sex with a man was one thing; crying like a baby against his shoulder was another.
His dark eyebrows winged upward. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
No, but it’s better than being here, with you. “The police are watching the house, and I’d hate to intrude further.”
“Don’t even worry about that. I don’t want you staying somewhere where you aren’t safe.” His eyes darkened, and now she couldn’t look away. “I told you I’d keep you safe, and I meant it.”
Kat didn’t know if she wanted to turn tail and run, or launch herself into his embrace more. She hadn’t had someone to look out for her for so long. Lillian had done her best after her mom’s passing, but she’d been too far away to do much. And then she’d been diagnosed with dementia, and the grandmother Kat had known for twenty-five years had disappeared.
She hugged herself. “I think it’s for the best if I go home,” she said quietly.
“Is this about what happened last night?” His voice was little more than a growl, and it caused the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle.
“No, I mean, kind of…” She looked away from him. “It’s more that I don’t think we should continue what we’re doing.”
He didn’t say anything to that. She knew, deep in her gut, that she was taking the easy way out. But she’d rather bring everything to a halt now before she got in so deep that she’d get her heart broken.
He rose from the couch and began pacing. He looked rather like a grumpy lion, all rumpled and glorious and scowling. Her heart—her stupid, stupid heart—fluttered as she watched him. Even now, she still wanted him.
“You can’t leave,” he said, and she blinked at him. “I mean, it’s your choice, but it’s a stupid one. You’ll put yourself in danger, and for what? Because you regret what we did the other night?”
“I never said I regretted it.”
“You’re acting like you did.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Gavin. I’m trying to be cautious. I’m trying not to screw myself over, okay?”
“And how, exactly, would you screw yourself over?”
She realized what she’d said, but she refused to apologize. “Look, I know you’re not ready to move on from your divorce. I get it. It takes a while to get to that place, and I don’t want to be your rebound chick.”
He stared at her. Then he cursed. “You would not be my rebound chick.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I also don’t want to be the other woman in your relationship.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You know what it means!” She rose and pointed a finger at his chest. “How can we have a relationship if you’re still not over your ex-wife? Or your marriage? You haven’t exactly been interested in making this anything more than a fling, and I’m telling you, I don’t want to have just a fling.”
He gaped at her, but then he narrowed his eyes at her. “I assure you,” he said in a low voice, “I’m over my marriage. I have been for years. It ended way before we ever filed for divorce.” He took her hand that still had her finger pointed against his chest, and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing her fingers. She had to keep her knees from buckling, just from that simple caress. “That doesn’t change the fact that I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another woman. And I think you feel the same way.”
She couldn’t deny it: she desired him, like she’d desire water in the middle of a desert. As he kissed her fingers, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she found herself moving closer, until she was pressed against him, her breasts against his chest and his hardness against her belly.
She knew she should resist. She shouldn’t give in. Another voice whispered that her accusations were just because she was scared, but didn’t she have a reason to be scared? Letting herself trust and lean on another person—on this man—was a gamble she didn’t know if she could take. And especially not on a man who’d experienced his own heartbreak that had left him bleeding and fractured.
All of that was pushed aside when he sucked her index finger into his
