Page 23
I would have been half dead of mortification. I guess that was something else to envy about the woman.
“Is that one of the drunk girls?”
“They were chugging tequila in a hot tub before this. I’m just glad everyone is fully clothed and upright.”
“I think she’s missing a jacket,” I said.
Cain turned, looking over and sighing. “Yeah, she had a sweater on when she went into the haunted house. Were you going to take a tour through?”
“It’s on my list, yeah.”
“Care for some company?”
“Promise not to judge me if I scream like a little girl?”
There was something soft in his eyes then, making a gooey sensation move through me.
“Promise.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cain
The second the door closed behind us, Georgie tensed and scooted closer to my side.
And because she couldn’t see me in the darkness, I let my lips curve up, let myself sink into the role of protector. My favorite one, right ahead of fixer.
I guess maybe that was why I’d always been drawn to softer, gentler women—the desire to protect all that softness from the hardness of the world.
Granted, I didn’t know Georgie. Not really. But there was something tender about her, something already bruised blue and purple from a man who handled her too roughly.
And the thought of being that kind of example added another inch to my shoulders, puffed up my pride.
We moved along the cluttered, turning path through creepy displays and jumping animatronics, the eerie music and sinister laughter filling the air through hidden speakers.
I had half my focus on finding the missing sweater and the other half on the way Georgie’s arm brushed mine, on how she stepped behind me as we passed a particularly creepy clown mannequin.
But it wasn’t until she mistook an actor for another decor item, until he flew out of his chair at her, that she screamed and threw herself behind me, her hands grabbing me at the ribs, her face pressed into the center of my back.
Was it an appropriate time to feel a surge of desire? Nope. But that didn’t stop the need from coiling in my gut.
“It’s okay,” I said, reaching back to hook an arm around her and pull her to my side. “That’s Jacob. He’s seventeen and tried to get me to buy him beer once.”
“C’mon, man,” Jacob grumbled as he dropped down onto his seat.
Georgie exhaled hard and shot me a wobbly smile. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I’ll keep the scary teenagers away from you,” I promised as I pulled her closer to my side.
She didn’t pull away, didn’t stiffen.
She took a deep breath and exhaled, making her body loosen as she fell into step with me.
She still jerked and yelped at sudden movements, but she didn’t panic again.
“Shoulda known,” I said as I finally spotted the sweater—wrapped around the shoulders of a female serial killer mannequin. It was the woman I’d seen on the front of a shirt Aviela wore on occasion with the words Dead men don’t rape underneath.
“We’re almost at the—” Georgie started, but was cut off by a group of teenagers who came running, yelling, slamming into her and sending her falling into me—her head in my chest this time.
