Rounding the street in front of the house, he turned into the alley and punched the remote to the garage door. Whether it was the drastic change in surroundings or the loss of background noise when he killed the engine that pricked her awareness, he couldn’t be certain, but she shook her head as if shaking off the fog of sleep. “Where are we?”
“My home.” He pushed the button on his rearview mirror and the garage door trundled closed. He gave way to impulse and covered one of her fisted hands with his. “You will be safe here.”
She studied the unpacked boxes outside her door and the tools hung neatly on the peg board above his workbench. Despite the considering perusal, she still seemed uncustomarily detached. As if her brain was online and absorbing, but wasn’t quite sure how to generate a resulting action. A reasonable reaction given all she’d been through. An emotional armor of sorts he’d seen even the most hardened men employ when an event had pushed them too far beyond what they could safely process and remain sane.
He gave her fist a gentle squeeze before he released it. “Stay where you are. I’ll help you down.”
By the time he opened her door, she still hadn’t moved. Only stared down at her lap as if drained of any capacity to do anything save breathe and exist. Unwilling to ask her to endure any more than she already had, he slung her backpack over one shoulder and picked her up.
She startled at first, but settled as soon as she seemed to realize there was no threat and wearily rested her head against his shoulder. Her body was nearly deadweight as he carried her inside. As if all the fight that had been left inside her had slowly leaked onto the floor of his truck on the drive home, leaving nothing more than muscle, skin and bone behind.
In truth, he was oddly grateful. Both that, for a small moment, she was free of her worries, and that he’d been given time of his own to hold her. To ease the burden of ineptitude and self-recrimination he’d harbored all day through the simple, unexpected connection.
Only the most cursory lights glowed on the first floor—a small brushed steel pendent light over his sink in the updated kitchen and a lamp in the living room across from it. A study sat dark to one side of the main entry, but the glow of the old-fashioned streetlamp outside cut a wide enough swath to let him safely carry Bonnie to the second floor.
He paused at the top of the landing. There were two bedrooms at either end, both finished out by Evette in the last year after she’d learned they were empty, but if he put Bonnie in either one of those he’d be unable to hear her.
Decision made, he headed for the third floor and the guest room opposite his master suite. He made it all of three steps past his room when he reconsidered and backtracked to the master. Yes, Evette had done an excellent job of decorating and making his town house actually feel like a home, but his bedding was far superior to the others, and his mattress was one of the few purchases he’d gone over the top with. She deserved something comfortable. Something indulgent. And sleeping in the guest room across from her would certainly be no hardship for him.
With only the moonlight through the wide picture window to guide him, he strode to the king-size bed and laid her out on his side of the bed. She rolled to one side as soon as she made contact with the mattress, her back to him and her knees drawn tight to her chest.
Odd how seeing her there felt right. Perhaps not so withdrawn and curled in on herself, but just to have her there—safe and secure in his own space—eased the tension in his shoulders. Perhaps if he gave her time to sleep—to let her mind process the things she’d been through in a protected environment—she’d be comfortable enough to shed her shoes and jacket and slip beneath the covers.
He grabbed the plush gray throw draped along the foot of the bed and covered her with it.
For just a moment, he gave himself time to merely stand there and study her. The rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The deep auburn of her hair in the moonlight. How fragile and delicate she looked without her defenses in place.
He would help her rebuild. Get her past whatever made her think she wouldn’t be a welcome addition to their family. Help her find a path she could be proud of and give her a foundation to build on. He’d just have to be careful to keep his distance as he did so. She’d already made it clear she wanted to live a law-abiding life. One free of questionable practices and secrets. She’d already seen firsthand tonight what he was capable of. If she ever learned just how prevalent that part of his life had been before moving to New Orleans, she’d never come within screaming distance again.
Biting back a sigh, he stepped away from the bed and crept as quietly as possible toward the door.
“Roman?”
He paused at the threshold, the hesitancy and pain in her voice rekindling the need for vengeance he’d barely banked. He faced her.
Braced on one elbow, her chin was tucked close to her chest, but the fear and desolation on her face pierced his heart. “Could you...” She pinched her lips tight and took a shaky breath. “Would you mind staying? For just a little bit?”
Distance.
He was supposed to keep his distance. Ensure she felt safe around him. Keep her well removed from the ugly truth of who he was and what he’d done in his past.
But in that moment, he didn’t want distance. Wanted to stretch out beside her, tuck her close to his side and let her lean into his strength. To promise her things he had no business even thinking about. Let alone speaking aloud.
He nodded and prowled back to the bed, angling for the opposite side so that when he returned to the guest room he wouldn’t rouse her. He piled the pillows high and reclined against them, his long legs stretching toward the end of the bed.
Bonnie scooted closer, her position the same as before, but near enough her knees grazed his hip and he had no choice but to lift his arm and make room for her head on the pillow beside him.
“Thank you. Just...” Her shaky whisper was all innocence and gratitude. But when she placed her trembling hand on his chest just above his heart, something in him shifted. Something fierce, yet also protective. “Thank you.”
She trusted him.
Despite everything—what she’d seen and what she’d felt—she’d chosen to trust him. To lower her guard and let herself be vulnerable.
The realization rocked him. Left him stunned and shaken more than any of the dangerous situations he’d encountered in his life.
One tiny woman.
One spitfire who’d fought and clawed to keep herself whole and healthy despite the nest of vipers and narcissists she’d been born into had humbled him and left him speechless like no other.
Yes. He would protect her. Help her and give her cause to believe in herself. If for no other reason than to thank her for this moment. For sharing her trust and her vulnerability with him even if it wasn’t deserved.