He shrugged a shoulder. Hell, when he’d first come home to San Francisco, he wasn’t sure he’d even stay. He’d been recovering from the bomb blast, grieving for his best friend, Kris, who’d died in the blast. Cam hadn’t been sure he could stay.
Thankfully, the job at Norcross Security suited him.
And his family was relentless. His mom dropped around frequently. He went out for beers and a burger with his brothers. Although, now that they’d both fallen in love, that might decrease a bit.
Cam didn’t mind. He was happy for Hunt and Ryder, and he liked Savannah and Siv. Siv was also a friend now, since they worked together. Cam would have the woman on his team any day.
Saskia shivered.
“Shower,” he said. “You need to get warm.”
She looked at the floor. “I need to get clean.”
He told himself not to touch her. He couldn’t risk getting too close. He told her that he’d keep her safe, and that meant protecting her from himself as well.
“I’ll find you some clothes to wear, then make you some…” she needed something warm and soothing “…tea.”
She nodded. “Tea sounds good.”
Crap, he hoped he had tea.
He led her to the guest bedroom. The bed was covered in a cream cover and a geometric artwork painting in blue and orange hung on the wall. He gestured to the adjoining bathroom. “Clean towels are in the cabinet.”
Big brown eyes met his. “Thanks, Cam.”
He nodded.
Once he heard the shower start, he headed to his own room.
There wasn’t much in the way of decoration. A dark-blue wall behind the metal bed added some color. There was a rich, gray bed cover that his mother had given him, and a small painting Savannah had gifted him.
It was a long, graceful dancer, mid-twirl.
He rummaged in his closet and found a clean T-shirt and some sweatpants. He knew they’d be far too big for Saskia, but they’d have to do for now.
He headed back to leave them outside the bathroom. Then he heard the sobs.
His hands clenched. He knew he should walk away, but a part deep inside of him needed to keep her safe.
Even from her pain.
Cam opened the bathroom door, and what he found made his battered heart squeeze.
Saskia sat in the bottom of the shower stall, still in her dress. Her hair was loose and drenched. She was crying like her heart was broken.
He toed his shoes off and stepped into the shower. He dropped down beside her and pulled her onto his lap.
With a sob, she curled into him, clinging tight. The water soaked his clothes, but he’d been in far worse situations.
“You’re going to be okay,” he told her.
“I know.” A hiccupping sound. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m safe, I’m not hurt. There are others far worse off than me. What they suffered…”
Cam felt an uncomfortable burn in his gut. He knew that feeling all too fucking much. Knew what it was to survive when other good people died or were injured.
Kris had been his best friend, a brother in every way. They’d been in the Army together, made Delta Force together, and then Ghost Ops. He’d been a damn fine man with a killer sense of humor. And because Cam had fucked up, he’d died.
He didn’t have any words to comfort her, so he just pulled her closer.
They sat like that, the water falling over them for a long time.
Her sobs slowed and she pulled in a shaky breath. She toyed with the button on his shirt.
“Why do I feel so safe with you?”
Damn. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t. But right then, with Saskia in his arms, he couldn’t.
“You are safe, Saskia. I promise.” He cupped her jaw.
Her gaze met his, and he saw the hunger and the desire that she didn’t hide.
Shit.
“I’m going to leave you to finish your shower. I put some clean clothes on the edge of the tub and I’ll go make that tea.”
A flash of disappointment on her face, but she nodded. “Thanks, Cam.”
Even if he did let himself have her, he wouldn’t go there tonight. Not while she was hurting and vulnerable.
He snagged a towel and left. In his own bathroom, he stripped off his wet clothes. In his head, he saw her beautiful face, slim shoulders, mass of black hair.
Damn. His cock responded. He growled, and ignoring it, he dried off. He couldn’t have her. She wasn’t for him. He couldn’t ever forget that.
He dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt.
In the kitchen, he put the kettle on and made some toast. She needed some sustenance.
There was movement and he looked up. She appeared with a small smile. Her hair was brushed out and loose.
His sweats were far too big, but she’d folded over the waistband, and his T-shirt was knotted on the side. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded.
He pulled out a chair at the round table. “The tea’s ready, and I made you some toast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
She bit her lip and tucked her legs up under her on the chair. “I couldn’t risk eating. I was afraid there’d be drugs in the food.”
He dropped the plate and mug on the table in front of her. “Eat,” he ordered.
“I didn’t think you were this bossy.” She sipped the tea he’d made.
“I can be very bossy.”
He sat beside her and watched her nibble on the toast.
She was alive. The relief spilling around inside him was intense.
She tucked some damp hair back behind her ear. “I need to call Sentinel Security, and my dance director, and then—”
He placed a hand over hers. “You need to rest. Vander’s already been in touch with Wolf. And you can call your director in the morning.”
“Killian?” she asked.
“Still out of range. Wolf will reach him.”
She finished half the toast. Her hands were cradling the mug when her eyelids started to droop.
He took the mug from her hands and set it on the table. “Bed.” The adrenaline that had kept her going through her ordeal had worn off. She needed sleep.
Saskia nodded, docile. He led her to the guest room. The bed was neatly made, and he’d left the bedside lamp on.
She fidgeted with the hem of his T-shirt. “This is nice.”
He touched her cheek, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms. “Remember, you’re safe here. I won’t let anyone disturb you.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep.”
He made himself leave. Cam headed back to the living room. There was no way he’d sleep. He rarely got more than a few hours a night. Besides, he would make damn sure no one disturbed a second of her rest. But mostly, he couldn’t risk waking from a nightmare, screaming. It didn’t happen so often now, but he wouldn’t risk it.
He dropped onto the couch and channel surfed. He found a thriller movie and sank back on his buttery, leather couch, his gaze on the TV, his mind on the beautiful ballerina one room away.
He didn’t hear a sound, but he looked up from the screen, knowing she was there.
She’d ditched the sweatpants and was just wearing his T-shirt. Her long, slender legs were bare.