Page 125 of Sterling Heat

“Sebastian, settle down.” Stone. Demanding as ever, he tightens his hold on me.

“Baby, please.”

I lift my head again at the soft plea, catching on Enya’s tear-stained face. Her hands are clasped beneath her chin, praying for me with useless prayers. The gates of hell are open and waiting for me. I don’t deserve heaven. I don’t deserve her, but I’ll defend her. I’ll keep her safe.

“Did he touch you?” My voice is rough, gravel-filled and deep. If he touched one precious hair or an inch of her soft skin, nothing is going to be able to restrain me.

She shakes her head. “He only scared me.” She swallows, her tone thick.

“Let me see,” I snap, eager to see her body and check for myself that he didn’t harm her.

“If I let you go, you go to her. Do you hear me?” Stone tugs on my arms, locked within his. No one else could have the power to restrain me.

“I need you.” The tears fall harder down Enya’s beautiful face as she stares at me, willing me with those eyes to come to her.

“Let me go,” I grit, eyes focused on Enya. My body stills.

The color drains from Enya’s face. Hurt and rejection fill the bright darkness of her eyes. She’s misunderstood and I lurch toward her, but Stone holds me back.

“No.” I shake my head. “Stone, let me go.” My voice cracks. “I need to get to Enya.”

Stone holds me a moment longer, squeezing me for emphasis, before he loosens his hold.

Abruptly, I shrug him off and step toward Enya. With my rushed approach, she steps back.

Fuck. She’s afraid of me, too. Raising my hands, I surrender to her. But the sight of my swollen fingers and blood-covered palms is only further proof I’m not good for her.

“Sugar,” I whisper, desperate, pleading. “Please.” Please don’t be frightened. “I’d never hurt you. I . . . I love you.” The words are coarse and rough, as a phrase I’ve never said before to anyone.

She nearly knocks me over with the force of her sudden hug. With her arms around my middle and her head tucked into my chest, Enya clings to me and I lower my arms.

“I’m a mess, baby.” I don’t want to taint her with my dirty hands.

She steps back and grabs my shirt, tugging me toward the sink where she draws my hands beneath the faucet and washes them. Her fingers scour while the soap suds. And her tears still fall.

“I’m sorry.” I start, voice tight and hushed near her ear. “I’m so sorry.” My throat fills. The words are a tremor. “I’m sorry.” I choke before lowering my head to her shoulder while she scrubs at my fingers and flips my hands to rinse my palms. Cleansing me. Renewing me. Taking my apology and giving me her forgiveness. Her love.

Before I know it, her arms are around me again, and she’s clinging to me. Or maybe I’m clinging to her, as I wrap her in my arms and tuck my face into her neck.

This woman has reduced me to a frightened child, and an angry teen, and a desperate man.

“I love you, Sebastian. I love you.” The phrase is a lullaby on repeat as I hug her to me in her kitchen. The background melody is Stone arresting a man and Vale pacing with Adara. The only thing I focus on, though, are the soft, giving words, the beat of Enya’s heart, and the strum of her hand over my lower back, soothing me, loving me.

Slowly, I lift my heavy head. My face is damp.

“It wasn’t you,” Enya says, meeting my eyes. “It was me. He was after me. He thought I must know something about the money because of Seamus.” She cups my jaw, gently squeezing to emphasize her words. “It wasn’t you.”

Abruptly, I pull back and let my gaze roam over her body. “Did he touch you?” My voice turns hard and cold again. “Did he hurt you?”

My eyes catch on the circle of blood near her hip. Hastily, I’m lifting her dress, needing to see her skin.

“He had a knife at my hip, and he nicked me. It’s nothing.” Her tender palm comes to my cheek and draws my attention back to her face.

“It’s not nothing. It’s—” My voice catches as I realize once again, I could have lost her. In a flash, he could have done her extreme harm. I tug her to me again, squeezing her to my chest as I breathe her in.

Fall rainstorm. Lemon cake. Baby scent. Family.

I pull back again and drag my fingers through her hair, fisting it gently at the back of her neck. “You were wrong.” My voice is hoarse. “The other night. All that you said about us, how we met and what happened. You were wrong.”