Dylan struggled to answer, not even understanding his feelings fully himself. "Nothing is in it for me except protecting you from anything else bad happening to you. Why are you pushing my help away?"
"Experience."
"Well, I think you should let me surprise you." He saw the brief longing in her eyes, betraying how tired she was of taking care of herself. The vulnerability was gone a second later. She was a tough cookie, and he knew it would take a lot more work to convince her to trust him.
Not waiting for a response, he pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and began to put together the fixings for an omelet.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm hungry. I know you have to be hungry, too. Have a seat. Better yet, go lie down for a few minutes and try to take a short nap. I'll wake you when I have the food ready."
He moved into motion while she looked at him in surprise. "You're going to cook? For me?" She sounded incredulous.
He flashed her his best smile. "I'm going to cook—for us."
He saw her lips curl slightly, a tiny smile. She didn't leave, choosing to sit silently at her small table. Enjoying a small sense of victory, he could feel her eyes on his back as he worked in the small kitchen.
It only took a few minutes to finish the food prep and he plated their omelets, carrying them to the table. He then poured two glasses of cold orange juice and sat down to eat.
Hannah hadn't moved. She sat staring at the food, a faraway look in her eyes. He knew she had a lot to worry about and wanted to distract her. He picked up her fork and held it out to her, but she sat transfixed. He worried she was going into shock as the gravity of her situation closed in on her. When her bottom lip began to quiver, he used the fork to stab a bite from her plate, holding the food to her mouth.
"Open for me, Hannah. You need to eat."
She obeyed mechanically and he shoveled in mouthfuls as fast as she would allow him. When he held the glass of OJ to her lips, she drank, several drops clinging to her lips briefly before dripping down to her chin.
Without thinking, Dylan used his thumb to catch the drops of orange liquid, bringing it to his own lips to suck it off his digit. Hannah's eyes expanded as she watched, finally coming out of her trance-like state.
They ate in silence, Dylan diverting some bites to himself, sharing a fork, until they had both had their fill.
He saw when she noticed the pile of items in boxes and bags on the counter. She finally broke the silence to ask, "What is all that stuff?" nodding toward the heap.
"I started gathering things I think you'll want to take with you when we leave."
He hated the confusion in her eyes. "Can I really leave? They made it sound like I had to go into the warehouse tonight."
He paused briefly, knowing his next words could get him into deep shit with his brother and Lukus, deciding he didn't care. "You don't have to do anything. They're gone now. All you need to do is say the word and I'll help you pack up, and we'll leave here before they get back."
Her eyes widened. She thought over his offer before answering. "And then what? I'll have to look over my shoulder every day for the rest of my life."
"Maybe, maybe not. At least you aren't signing yourself up for more abuse tonight."
He couldn't understand why she wouldn't see that leaving was her best option. "If you're worried about having to make your way on your own, don't be. I just got home from my second tour in Afghanistan. The only reason I took the job with Mitchell was to shut my brother Derek up. I have no loyalty to him," Dylan went on.
"But you do to me? Why?" Her suspicious eyes stared him down.
"Dammit, stop asking me that. I don't know why. I just do."
"I can take care of myself." The quaver in her voice wasn't convincing.
"Sure you can, but maybe you shouldn't have to."
She acted so strong, but she was trembling under the weight of her precarious position. It made him want to enclose her in bubble wrap and keep her safe. She was right about one thing. His feelings for her were irrational considering how little they knew about each other, but that didn't stop him from caring just the same.
The sight of the tears on her cheeks was the final straw. Dylan pushed to his feet, leaned in, and scooped Hannah out of her chair and into his arms. She went without a struggle, a limp noodle in his arms as he carried her to the couch, cradling her close while her tears turned into sobs.
He held her through her breakdown, whispering soft assurances in her ear, stroking her hair lightly, and patting her back while rocking her gently. The long minutes stretched on, each second solidifying his hold on her both physically and emotionally. As fucked up as this situation was, Hannah being in his arms felt right.
After she'd cried herself out of tears, she calmed. The silence, which had started amicably, was turning sexual. Her hand, which had been grabbing his shirt for support, now stroked his chest gently while she wiggled in his lap, apparently not to escape but to get closer. He knew she had to feel his growing erection under her ass and wondered if all her wriggling was intentional.
The knowledge that she had been sexually assaulted little more than forty-eight hours previously had Dylan reining in his desire. They had enough heavy shit going on without adding a sexual relationship to the mix. Still, when she pulled back enough to peer up into his eyes, their lips only inches apart, he was helpless
