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I should go. Now.
Except … Ava looks me up and down, a sneer twisting her lips, a spark of cruelty in her gaze.
I don’t know if it’s that—the way she looks at me like I’m a bug—or if it’s the way her scarlet tipped, manicured nails curl like talons on his chest. Whichever it is, no.
Just, no.
I’m not leaving. I’m not backing down.
Maybe he still has feelings for her. Maybe he even still thinks he loves her. I don’t care.
She’s bad for him.
I trust Martin enough to know that he has Ian’s best interests at heart. I don’t trust myself to be objective, but I do trust him.
She will not get her claws into him again. Not on my watch.
Not that I have a plan for forcing her to leave. Or a plan of any kind beyond catching my breath.
Stupid fucking virus!
I sag against the wall by the door, still struggling to pull air into my lungs.
“Who are you?” Ava exclaims.
“Hey!” I try to sound bright and cheerful, like I just stopped by instead of hurtling down the hill to cockblock her. “I just …” I wheeze a little more, then dissolve into a coughing fit.
Before I can recover, Ian strides across the room, catching my arms to help me straighten. “Are you okay? Did you run all the way here?”
He runs his gaze over me, looking for signs of fragility or weakness. Sweet, protective Ian …
And just like that, a plan forms. I just need to distract him long enough to pry him from her grasp. If he thinks I’m about to pass out, that will keep her lips off of him until Martin gets here.
I can do that, right?
And it’s only mildly immoral because I’m doing it for his own good.
I lean weakly against the window, pressing my hand to my chest like I’m struggling for breath. “I’m … fine. Just give me …”
Before I can gasp out the end of my sentence, he sweeps me into his arms, bride-style.
My arms go automatically around his neck as he carries me across the room as though I weigh nothing.
He really is quite good at this whole carrying-me-around thing. He could do it professionally. Or win gold in the Olympics.
In the living room, he deposits me on the sectional and kneels by my side, giving me a searing once over, as if searching for injuries. “Do you need me to call Dr. Berry?”
“Who is this person?” Ava demands shrilly. “Is she some sort of farmer?”
I ignore her. Ian’s hand is on the center of my chest, carefully gauging the rise and fall of my chest. “Just breathe,” he murmurs.
I breathe in deeply, my gaze on his as he draws in air matching his breath to mine. Fake or not, it’s soothing being the center of his attention, feeling as though he’s coaxing me back from the brink of collapse. As if there really is a bond between us, woven by our solitude and proximity over the past few months. Not to mention the amazing sex of the past couple of days.
Well, sex that was amazing for me. Even if it was only rebound sex for him.
Damn it.
I’m hit with another wave of panic and now my pulse is hammering again and I will not cry, I will not cry. I will not cry.
