They didn't speak. He just sat next to her, reaching for her hand and pulling her closer until she leaned on him.
She spent thirty minutes answering the officer's questions; thirty minutes reliving the hell she'd been put through. At times, Dylan's hand became numb from her squeezing so hard as she fought to hold it together. By the time they were done, she sagged against him, spent.
When the cop pressed for more answers about her pre-Davenport past, Dylan put a stop to it. "That's enough. She's answered enough questions. What happened before she met Davenport is irrelevant. We're done for the night. You have more questions, make an appointment with her in a few days. The bastard is dead. It can wait."
He glanced down and saw relieved tears pooling in her eyes. God, even having lived through twenty-four hours of hell, she was beautiful. Only the faint bruise remaining on her cheek marred her beauty, reminding him of how close to danger she'd been.
"Come on. Let's get you to bed." He reached down to scoop the still sleeping Connor into his arms before standing and helping her to her feet. He nodded goodnight to his brother from across the room before moving them in the direction of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. They came to a small office first, with a pullout bed. Mama Rosa was already asleep there. Dylan left Hannah at the door as he moved to lay Connor down next to the older woman.
Hannah complained. "No. I need to keep Connor with me."
Dylan had been prepared for her objection. After tucking the little boy in, he returned to her side. He took her into his arms, lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes. "No, Hannah. What you need is a good night's sleep. Connor is safe now. And Rosa will take care of him when he wakes. It'll be dawn in a few hours. I want you to get more than a couple hours of sleep."
She opened her mouth as if to argue. If she had, he would have backed down. After all, who the hell was he to tell her what to do?
Only she didn't argue. She nodded her consent, allowing him to take her hand and lead her to the next guest room. They'd left in such a hurry that they'd packed nothing, which left him in an awkward quandary. He left her standing beside the bed while he strode to the nearby dresser, rifling through drawers until he came out with an oversized tee shirt that he assumed belonged to Lukus.
Hannah watched him silently as she collapsed to sit on the bed. She was fading fast now that sleep was near. By the time he got back to her, she looked like she'd topple over fully dressed.
He started by slowly lifting the blouse she'd been wearing since she'd been discharged from the hospital. Anger flared as he saw the bruising on her left breast, knowing the marks had been left by Davenport's brutality. The clean tee shirt was huge on her, but at least it hid her damaged flesh.
She was already barefoot, and the jeans Lukus had brought to the hospital for her in California slid down her legs easily. He caught a glimpse of her flat stomach and skimpy panties just before pulling the tee shirt lower to protect her modesty.
Dylan pulled back the sheet, maneuvering Hannah until her head rested on the pillow. It took all his self-control to pull the sheet up. He leaned down, letting his lips linger on her forehead for several seconds, delivering what he hoped felt like a platonic kiss. The rushing of blood to his damn cock reminded him that his feelings towards Hannah were anything but innocent, but the woman had been through hell. The last thing she needed right now was a man pressing himself on her.
As he pulled away, moving to leave, she challenged him. "Wait. You aren't staying?" Her voice was soft. Vulnerable.
Her question gave him hope that she might have feelings for him in return, yet he remained strong. "I think you're too tired right now to deal with me staying here with you. We'll talk more tomorrow."
She reached for his hand, her grasp firm, determined to hold him near. "Please, Dylan. You're tired, too. I thought..."
In that moment, she looked so young. So unsure of herself. She was floundering in her emotions as much as he was.
He was tempted. So fucking tempted. He wanted to strip down and lie next to her. To feel her in his arms. To make love to her until she was convinced he'd never let anything bad happen to her again.
If only it were that easy.
It was the single tear that fell on her bruised cheek that finally tore down his final bit of self-control. There was no place in the entire world he'd rather be in that moment than in that queen-sized bed, holding the beautiful woman in front of him.
He toed off his boots first. Their eyes locked as she finally released his hand, recognizing that he'd decided to stay. If he'd suspected that the sexual tension between them was one-sided, those doubts were put to rest in that moment. As exhausted as she was, Hannah's eyes sparked with a desire he marveled at considering all she'd been through.
Moving slowly, he pulled his tee shirt off first. She broke their eye contact to rake her gaze over his chiseled chest. He'd worked out extra hard the last few weeks, trying to burn off his anger towards Jake Davenport. He saw the concern in her eyes as she discovered the four-inch scar under his left ribcage, a souvenir from the worst day of his life.
His jeans pooled on the floor next. He left his boxer briefs on as he pulled back the sheet to lie next to her. Hannah snuggled in
