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He didn’t think it was possible to hate Orlando Crane more. Turned out he was wrong. With every detail she unwittingly revealed about the bastard, he discovered more to hate.
“Shh.” She held her finger up to her mouth. “He might hear you.”
“Baby, he won’t hear me. He’s dead.”
“Dead?” she asked.
“Yes, dead.”
“Did I kill him?”
He stopped again at the top of the stairs, staring down at her. “Baby. No.”
“Oh. I thought about it. He was so mean. Way meaner than Meangent-Regent.”
“You know that meangent isn’t a word, right?”
“Pfft. No one cares about that.”
Right.
Good to know.
He carried her into her bedroom and laid her down on the bed.
“What were you doing out, if you’re ill?” he asked.
“I didn’t know I was ill before I left.” She started shivering. “I’m cold.”
“You’re burning up.”
“So cold. Come warm me up.” She held open her arms.
“I’ve got to strip you off and get you into bed. And find a thermometer.”
“I want huggles.”
“Baby.”
“Don’t you want to hug me?” she said with a sniffle.
Holy. Shit.
Stand your ground. A hug isn’t what she needs right now. What she needs is for you to take care of her.
“I need to get you into bed.”
“So you’re just a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?” she asked. “No cuddles and aftercare? I should have known.”
What?
He wasn’t sure what she was saying. But as he reached for her hoodie, she scuttled back. “I can do it.”
Regent eyed her. He had the feeling that he’d grossly miscalculated.
But he wasn’t the hugging type.
You would hug your sister if she needed it.
