Somebody to Love (Tyler Jamison #1) - April Wilson Page 0,98

I know enough to know I’m keeping him.

Tyler starts the engine and pulls out onto the street. Then he reaches for my hand and presses my palm to his thigh, covering my hand with his, linking our fingers. God, it feels good.

“So, boyfriends then?” he says, as if he needs clarification. “It’s official?”

I sigh into a smile. “Yeah, boyfriends. I’m definitely keeping you.”

That might not have been the most romantic declaration in the history of declarations, but it got the job done.

Chapter 35

Ian Alexander

Tyler is quiet on the drive back to my townhouse—too quiet—and that sends my anxiety through the roof. He said what happened tonight wasn’t my fault, but now that he’s had time to think about it, reality is probably setting in. It is my fault. And now his career is in jeopardy. He could lose everything because of me.

The rain kicks up, along with the wind, and he releases my hand to put both of his on the wheel. As the weather worsens, rain lashing the car, he white-knuckles the steering wheel, his gaze never leaving the road.

He must be furious, and I don’t blame him. I feel like absolute shit. I’m the one who wanted to go clubbing tonight. I’m the one who Brad fixated on. And Brad has all the video evidence he needs to incriminate Tyler.

As soon as Tyler pulls into my driveway and parks, I’m out of the car and racing through the downpour up the steps to my front door. I fumble to get the door unlocked, and then I rush inside, leaving the door ajar in case he decides to come in. I wouldn’t be surprised, or blame him, if he simply left.

I head for the kitchen to grab something cold to drink—I just need something to do.

Honestly, I wouldn’t blame Tyler if he didn’t bother coming inside. He could easily decide to cut his losses and head home.

Just as I pop open a bottle of beer, I hear the front door close quietly.

My heart starts hammering because I don’t know what to expect. A lecture? Censure? Blame?

I hear the hall closet door open. A moment later it closes, and Tyler walks into the kitchen wearing his blood-splattered t-shirt. His jacket and holster must be hanging in the closet. He means to stay.

Tyler stands in front of me, his fingers latching on to the waistband of my jeans. He pulls me close. “It’s okay, Ian. You don’t have to run. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

My eyes burn, and I blink away tears. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

He smiles, but it’s a sad one. “Nope. I’m still here.” He starts to lean in for a kiss, but he stops himself. “I need to wash up.” He grabs a paper towel from the rack and wets it at the sink before wiping the mostly dried blood off his face.

I set down my beer and take the paper towel from him. “I’ll do it.” I wipe the dried blood from his beard and cheeks, and then I very tenderly dab the corner of his cut mouth. When he winces, I flinch. “Shit! I’m sorry.”

“Ian.” His voice is low and even, comforting. I’m starting to recognize that tone… it’s the tone he uses when he’s trying to talk me back from a ledge.

“Don’t try to talk,” I say. “You’ll start bleeding again.”

Tyler stills my hand and takes the paper towel from me, wadding it up and tossing it into the wastebasket. He cups my face and gently brushes my throat with his thumbs. “Forget about me. How’s your throat? Does it hurt?”

“It feels bruised.” I clasp his wrists, just wanting the physical connection. “I’m really sorry about tonight.”

He frowns. “I told you, there’s nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t your fault. If anyone should apologize, it’s me, for losing my temper. But God, Ian, when I saw his hands on you, I snapped. He may not have killed Eric and the others, but he fucked them all. I saw the photographic evidence. He hurt them, and then he took pictures. The thought of him even touching you made me see red.” And then he steps closer and gently presses his forehead to mine. “I’d kiss you, but I’m a mess right now.”

I laugh. “You look wonderful.” It’s true. The blood is gone from his face and beard, but his lip is slightly swollen.

His hands skim up the sides of my throat, and then he frames my face, his thumbs gently brushing my lips. His