Page 62 of Nightfire

Mike kept holding her hand, trying to warm it up. But also because it just felt so good in his. He reached up his other hand to touch her cheek. She flinched instinctively and his heart gave a huge thud in his chest.

Men had hurt her all her life. Though Chloe knew in her head he could never hurt her, he hadn’t given her any reason to turn to him, to think of him as a refuge. She was feeling raw and alone, hunkered down into herself, surrounded by her loneliness like a force field. He wanted to break that force field down, shatter it.

She controlled her wince and let him stroke his fingers down her cheek, run the back of his fingers down her neck. Skin so smooth, so soft, so chilled. “I need you every way there is, Chloe. I’m not good with words the way you are, so I can’t explain it, but I sure as hell can show you.”

He stepped closer still, bent slightly, lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Mike carried her into his bedroom.

Chloe had never been carried as an adult woman. She’d been carried as a child, sick in the hospital. In all the thousands of romance novels she read, she always loved it when the man carried the woman somewhere. It just seemed to feed right into some primordial female lobe that was stubbornly resistant to modern notions of female equality.

Chloe sighed at the scenes she read, never believing in a million years that something like this would ever happen to her. And yet, here she was, in a man’s strong arms, being carried somewhere. To…the bedroom, actually.

Mike carried her easily, without watching where he was going. The only thing he watched was her eyes.

He was preternaturally strong and showed no sign whatsoever of making any kind of effort. He could just as easily have been carrying a glass of water, not a full grown woman. And she’d even packed on 15 pounds of pure muscle these past six months. Mike had seen to that.

To keep her balance, Chloe had to put her arms around his neck, loving the play of Mike’s shoulder muscles along the inside of her arms. Sheer, unadulterated male power.

He walked slowly and directly into his bedroom, which she’d never seen. Her heart thumped painfully as they crossed the threshold.

Moonlight shining outside the big picture windows cast a soft glow over an enormous bed with a curved wood headboard, a big chest of drawers, a light colored rug and an armchair.

He walked right by the bed to a door set in the left hand wall. Dipping slightly with her in his arms, he opened the door and flipped the switch. Chloe narrowed her eyes at the flare of light.

“Wow.” He put her down carefully, not letting her go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. He shook his arms as if he’d carried an almost unbearable weight and huffed dramatically. A man who’d just finished a hard, daunting task. He whooshed out a last breath, putting fervor and drama behind it. “Man. You really packed on those pounds, Chloe. I barely made it here.”

She looked, startled, into his bright blue eyes, like looking into blue searchlights. His lips pursed, fighting a grin.

He was flirting with her!

She’d been underweight all her life. Once, when she was twelve, after three operations in four months, she’d lost so much weight her kidney had slipped.

Now she weighed something close to normal, and some of that weight was muscle. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Watch your step, Keillor. Or I’ll clean your clock.”

The grin broke loose. She smiled back, so glad of the light moment, switching off the darkness for a second. Then the darkness and the memories returned.

She shivered involuntarily and Mike stilled. His eyes searched hers, face grim. “I can’t guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen to you again, honey. I can’t. No one can. I can’t guarantee that a shingle won’t fall off a roof and bean you. I can’t swear some asshole drunk won’t plow into your car. But look at me, Chloe.” He took her chin in his strong hand. “One thing I can guarantee? Those two will never touch you again, not while I live. I hope that makes you feel better.”

Mike’s face was set, slightly pale. Light years away from the good-time guy face he presented to the world. Good old Mike. Good for a beer and a laugh.

This wasn’t that Mike. He wasn’t even in the same universe as that Mike. This Mike was a force of nature, strength and will in every cell of his body.

She nodded as a heavy pall lifted. No, no one could guarantee that nothing bad would ever happen again. That wasn’t possible for anyone. But she was absolutely certain that right now she was utterly safe and if the hot glow in Mike’s eyes was any indication, something very good might happen very soon.

The bathroom had a huge tub and a big glass-enclosed shower cabin.

“I imagine you want to clean up,” Mike said. “Or do you want something to eat first?” His arm was still around her. He was very close, so close she could see the line of demarcation between his heavy five o’clock shadow and clear, tanned skin. Blue eyes stared into hers.

“Clean! Oh yes, please!” The idea of washing off the horrible experience, of washing away the violence and horror, trumped food or sleep.

Mike smiled a little. “Thought so. Bath or shower?”

Normally, bath. Soaking in warm water was nature’s way of healing many things, including bruises. But she wanted water washing over her, washing away the violence, sluicing down her body and gurgling down the drain, together with the memory of the two men attacking her.

“Shower.”

He nodded, his blue eyes never leaving hers. He watched her carefully as he reached behind her, keeping his hand flat against the upper part of her back, his huge hand nearly covering it. The hand was warm and heavy and he kept it there, at the top of the zipper, awaiting permission.