Every one of Darius’s muscles locks into place, like a grenade about to detonate. “What did you do?”
“I saw red.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. “I ran into the bedroom yelling at them to stop. I didn’t know it was Clover until I saw her lying on the bed, and she…she looked like she was—”
My voice breaks. Lowering my head, I press my hands against my eyes. I can’t stop my brain from sliding into dark places where the horror of what could have happened lives.
Then the image of Clover shatters. I struggle to pull up the defenses that keep the nightmares at bay, but all my strength is gone.
It’s my mother lying motionless on the concrete floor of the garage, her arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish, her body limp.
Darius settles his hand heavily on my knee. “Nell.”
“She looked exactly like my mother did after I…after she fell.” I gulp down the last word. “I still have nightmares about it.”
He grasps my wrists and pulls my hands away from my face. I stare at him through blurred vision. His mouth is a tight, hard slash, his eyes burning.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice roughens. “So fucking sorry.”
“I know.”
My palms still burn from the friction of the rope. Fueled by terror, I’d grabbed a saw from the tool bench to cut through the rope. I hadn’t foreseen how hard she’d fall, the sickening thud of her body hitting the garage floor, the way her head had cracked against the concrete. I’d broken my mother all over again.
“I’m sorry, too,” I whisper.
He recoils slightly. “What are you sorry for?”
“For not saving her.” A sob breaks from my throat.
“Jesus, Nell. There was nothing you could have done.”
His eyes are darker than a sky without stars. His face is so close to mine that I could count every one of his thick eyelashes. I lean in a little more and press my forehead against his. Tension ripples through him, but he doesn’t move away.
“Listen to me.” He lifts one hand beneath my hair to the back of my neck. “You’ve been punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. I need you to believe that. Please.”
His palm settles more securely against my nape. Warmth rolls down my spine. An ache pushes at my chest. Darius Hawke is the only person in the world I can believe.
I lift my head, regretting the loss of his touch as he slides his hand away from me.
I sink against the sofa cushions. He sits back, and then I’m shifting toward him, tucking myself under his arm. Our thighs press together. I rest my damp cheek against his shoulder. Though he doesn’t pull me closer, he still doesn’t move away.
His chest rises and falls with his breath. I rest one hand above his breastbone. His heartbeat feels like it’s pulsing deep within the earth, strong enough to rotate the planet on its axis. Though he’s been hurt in ways no one else will ever know, he would never use his strength to hurt someone.
“Did you know the guys?” His breath stirs the hair at my temples. “Who they were?”
I curl my fingers into his shirtfront. “One of them. Not the other two.”
“What’s his name?”
“Billy.” My eyes sting again, and I hate myself for wanting to cry. I hardly know Billy. We spent…what, an hour together? Why should I be upset that he wasn’t who I’d thought when I hadn’t even known who he was?
Because you liked him.
Or, at least, I felt like I could have liked him, given the chance.
“Last name?” Darius asks.
“Walker, or Wilson. He’s a junior. We ran cross-country together.” I don’t have to look at him to see the anger glittering in his eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll deal with him and the other two.” His phone buzzes. Pulling it from his pocket, he swipes the screen. “Clover’s mother got her home okay. She’ll be fine.”
He turns the phone to show me the text from Fern. Darius, we’re home. Clover is sleeping and will surely regret this tomorrow.
He responds with Thanks for letting us know before tossing the phone aside.
I rub my cheek against his shoulder in a very slight movement. He smells like dark, exotic things—cloves, woodsmoke, strong black tea. I finger one of the buttons on his white shirt and imagine pushing it through the hole. Touching his bare skin.
“How was the dinner party?” I’m pressed so close that my lips move against his shirt.
“Fine.” A rough note threads his voice. “Good food, interesting people.”
“Did they want to know about what happened to you?”
“If they did, they didn’t ask.”
I indicate the camera bag. “Were you taking pictures?”
“No. Just thinking.” He folds his big hand over my wrist. “You’d better go to bed. Tough night.”
“Not anymore.” The fear has drained, leaving me both exhausted, relieved, and strangely empowered. Three hours ago, I didn’t know I had the courage to confront three young men much bigger than me. Not only that, I stopped them from committing a horrible act of violence. I won.
“Go to bed, Nell.”
Though I can think of nothing I want more in this moment than to fall asleep nestled next to him, I start to ease away. My breasts push against his side, and the sensation of his warm muscles through his shirt hardens my nipples. Heat courses from the point of contact to my core. My heartbeat increases.
Darius pushes to his feet and crosses the room. Tension infuses his body. As if in response, a throb starts deep inside me like the plucked string of a violin.
The air thickens. I run my hands over my thighs. “Thanks again for your help.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” He turns toward the door. “Get a good night’s sleep.”
“You too.”
He doesn’t look at me again before he leaves the room. I sit in the dim light, still feeling his body heat soaking into my skin. Closing my eyes, I stretch out and rest my head against the cushion where he’d been.
Darkness falls.
CHAPTER 23
Darius
An hour later, Nell still hasn’t gone to bed. I don’t hear her footsteps on the stairs, the telltale creak indicating she’s halfway up, the light patter as she passes my room.
The screen of my laptop burns my eyes. My blood is hot. Anger and pride war inside me.
As proud as I am of Nell for taking on those three bastards all by herself, I’m also enraged at the thought of what they’d intended to do and that Nell put herself in the line of fire. What if they’d reacted differently? What if they’d turned on her?
But they’d backed down, the little fuckers. Nell won. She saved her friend and herself. I try not to think of what could still happen to her once she’s out in the world.
Of what men like me are capable of.
Pushing the computer aside, I leave the room and walk back downstairs. The house is dark, but a faint light still shines from the living room.
I stop in the doorway. She’s lying on the sofa, her body moving in the slow rhythm of sleep, her skin flushed. Her long brown hair spills around her shoulders, and her hands are tucked underneath her head.