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Montrell’s arms dropped, which made perfect sense. Of course he was disgusted. But she experienced only a moment without his warmth. He lifted her in his arms and strode to the bed. When she would have pulled away, he clutched her against his chest.
“Trust me?” he asked.
She hesitated but then wrapped her arms around his neck as he lay down with her still held against his chest.
Even though she was sprawled over him, his hands didn’t wander in a sexual way. He held her, his large hands so gentle as they skimmed up and down her back. He simply let her cry.
When she began to quiet, his murmured words filtered in.
“You’re safe, Bea. You’re here and alive. No one will hurt you.”
Her face felt too hot and tense, and she couldn’t breathe through her snotted-up nose. She started to lift away, her sudden snuffle the least sexy thing she could imagine.
“No, I’m not done holding you. Wipe your nose on my shirt.”
The absurdity of the suggestion dragged a laugh out of her as she did just that. At least it removed the dripping feeling beneath her nostrils.
Her arms tightened around his neck. She let her fingers play with the ends of his hair. “I’m not sure why I cried. I’ve never needed to before.”
His arms pulled her a little tighter against him. “You always needed to, Bea. I’m glad you were able to let go.”
Her fingers continued to brush over him as she let her eyes shut. “I’ve often felt numb. If you’re looking for loving sweetness, that’s not me. I’m a cold person, Montrell.”
He shook his head, causing her fingers to rub along the skin of his neck as his hair shifted with the movement. “Protecting yourself doesn’t make you cold. I don’t need you to be anything but yourself.” His chest moved with his long sigh. “I’m so glad you didn’t die.”
The tightness of her squeezed-shut eyes eased as she rubbed her face against his chest. Montrell hadn’t showered. His shirt still smelled of gunpowder, and his button pressed into her cheek.
She might really be able to fall asleep lying on top of him. She’d never slept with another person before. Not that she remembered.
There was an ache in her stomach as she worried over leaving so much unsaid. It felt like lying by omission. She didn’t want Montrell to love the dream of who she used to be.
Her hands dug into his neck as she realized she wanted Montrell to love her as she was. She wanted love—an emotion that wouldn’t last.
“Bea?” Montrell asked, his slowly rubbing hands pausing.
“I wasn’t crying because I almost died.” That was the truth, but it also told him nothing. Her eyes started filling with hot tears again.
His hands resumed their slow massage. “You were the target today. That Albanian was waiting to kill you. What did he do to you, Bea?”
She lifted her head and tried to push herself free. Montrell’s hands remained on her back, not letting her run away. His eyes locked onto hers as his arms flexed. Then he released her, using a hand to brush her wet hair behind her ear. His eyes never strayed from hers.
“You don’t have to tell me. I could tell that you wanted to kill him. Needed to.” He sighed, letting his hands drop to the bed. “I’m sorry. My own anger almost took that from you.”
She studied his sorrowful eyes, wishing they would smile instead. He had been angry, she remembered. His face had been set into almost a snarl as he’d glared down at the Albanian and continued to slam his fists into his face, over and over again. Montrell had been furious, but it had been for her, not at her. And she hadn’t felt frightened of him at all.
Instead, she’d moved closer to him to kiss him. The memory stung. “You didn’t want me to kiss you.”
Montrell snorted. “Oh, I wanted it. I just didn’t think I deserved it. I failed to protect you, Bea.”
She shook her head, the wet strands of her hair trailing over her back and making her shiver. She lowered against all his warmth, no longer wanting to run. “I protect me,” she said. “I don’t blame you, Montrell.”
His body relaxed beneath hers, and she realized for the first time that Montrell wasn’t as confident as he seemed.
“The Albanian I killed today never hurt me. Not directly.” She paused as Montrell’s arms wrapped around her, swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat. Her breathing evened out as his touch covered her back in warmth.
“He was the youngest cousin. The other Albanians liked to rag on him because of that. He never acted angry, and he went out of his way to greet me in the beginning. He seemed nice and a little shy. So I greeted him back with a smile.”
She stared at the far door, no longer wanting to close her eyes.
