Page 60 of Nightfire

“And, uh. We’ll get you settled in my room. Just dump my stuff out of the drawers and there’s plenty of room in the closet. Towels and..ah, stuff are…”

Fuck. Where did he keep his towels? The cleaning lady took them away from the bathroom, did something with them, and brought them back to the bathroom. He never saw any of it.

“In the closet in the hallway,” Chloe finished for him. “That’s where Alina keeps them.”

Oh. Okay.

Mike felt awful. Awkward. Hands and feet and tongue too big. He couldn’t move, could barely speak.

“So…I guess I’ll just…bunk down on the sofa. No problem. I’ve slept on a lot worse, believe me.”

Chloe took a step toward him, then stopped. Her eyes searched his, looking for something. “Is that what you want, Mike?” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. “To sleep on the couch?”

Hell no!

The words were on his tongue, the tongue that wasn’t working. He opened his hands helplessly, unable to speak.

Chloe took another step forward, and another. She was so close he could smell her now. Seeing her like this, so beautiful and soft and golden, feeling her body heat, smelling her…it was sensory overload. He couldn’t take it and closed his eyes.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. “Mike? You didn’t answer my question. Do you want to sleep on the couch?”

Mike’s eyes popped open to find her face so close to hers he could see each individual eyelash. The question wasn’t teasing. She wasn’t being coy or playing games. It wasn’t an idle question. She was dead serious.

She really wanted to know whether he’d rather sleep on his couch than—God!—with her. How could she wonder about that?

And then something strange happened. Mike drifted outside himself for the first time in his life. He wasn’t looking at a situation entirely from his point of view.

Mike saw Chloe, really saw her, looking past himself. Saw how scared she was, how brave she was. Saw what she felt for him right there in her eyes. Saw that whatever his answer, she’d accept it.

Pale, bruised, Chloe was asking whether he wanted her. And even as he looked, he could see her bracing herself for rejection.

“No.” The word came out raw, rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. “No, I don’t want to sleep on the damned couch.”

Mike reached out a hand, looked at the bandage on her arm, stopped himself. His arm dropped back to his side. “You’re wounded.”

Man, just the thought of hurting her…it make him nauseous. Mike was rough in his sex. He never really thought about it. Most times his brain just switched off and his body took over.

When he thought about it, which wasn’t often, he realized he fucked the right kind of women, ones who got off on him and a good thing, too, because he didn’t work too hard for their pleasure.

In taking care of his own, they got theirs. Win win.

Right now, he was crazy excited, hard as a club. Muscles tight with sexual tension. This was familiar ground, this was right about the time when his mind switched off and his dick took over.

But…suppose—just suppose he forgot himself and hurt Chloe’s arm, or was rough where she had bruises? It could happen, if he wasn’t paying attention. He felt slick hot bile rise up in his throat at the thought.

The picture of Chloe in pain because of him bloomed bright and clear in his mind, cool and precise. Hearing her cry out in pain, pain he’d caused…oh Jesus. Fuck no. He’d rather tear out his own heart.

Because he could. If he went with fucking-as-usual, he’d be entirely concentrated on his own dick inside Chloe and experience told him he wouldn’t be thinking at all.

And he could hurt her.

“I can’t do this, Chloe,” he whispered, the words almost physically grating against his throat. “I just can’t.”

She stepped back sharply. Her face closed up completely and now she looked like a little doll—porcelain and perfect and lifeless. Somehow she was far away from him, out of reach of his touch though she was only a foot away. She was utterly closed to him.

“No problem,” she said smoothly. “I need a shower and then I’ll go to bed. I don’t need tea. I’ll just, um, go into the, um, bedroom. Right now.” Her voice started shaking, breaking up. She turned around fast but not fast enough for him to miss the pain on her face and he nearly burned up with rage at himself.

He didn’t want to hurt her? How about right now, slick? You’re goddamned hurting her right now.