the hem of the T-shirt. “Thanks,” I said softly. I wanted Gray to hold me, to tell me everything was going to be all right, that my house, my home, wasn’t dangerous, that someone hadn’t wanted to harm me, but I didn’t blame him. I was a hot mess and a burden. I’d interrupted his work and… and he’d done enough.
Gray eyed me, moved as if he were nervous, restless even, as if being around me was painful, then gave me a head nod and left, closing the door behind him. The room was quiet, the air cool and the bed looked inviting, but I couldn’t climb in. I couldn’t lie down. I just dropped onto the side of it, the tips of my toes touching the carpeted floor. The alarm clock by the lamp said it was almost two. Only a few hours ago I was in my own bed, asleep…
Everything from the night came back. The crash I heard from the kitchen, the creak in the squeaky floor, the hall light coming on, the panic, climbing out my bedroom window, the man's voice, the desperate need for Gray.
It was as if I’d been holding myself together until now, like a vase that had been dropped on the ground and put back together, only weaker. One little touch, and all the pieces shattered once again. I felt like that now, that I’d been holding myself together, but now that I was alone with my thoughts, I broke.
Scalding tears welled and fell down my cheeks and dripped onto Gray’s shirt.
The door burst open, and Gray charged in, startling me. “Emory, I can’t. I tried, but I can’t leave you in here—” His mouth fell open, and his eyes filled with pain as he looked at me. “Oh, baby, don’t cry.”
He crouched down before me, running his thumbs over my cheeks. I saw the concern and worry and… anguish on his face. “I thought you wouldn’t want to be in my bed, that you’d think I was pushing you, that it was too soon, but fuck. I need you. I need you with me. Can I just hold you? I need to hold you, to know that you’re right there with me, that you’re safe.”
At his words, I couldn’t hold back any longer, and I slipped to my knees before him and wrapped my arms around him, crying—no, sobbing—into his chest. I didn’t need to be alone any longer. With big hands and powerful muscles, he scooped me up and carried me down the hall and into his room. With one hand, he swept the covers back and placed me on the bed, sliding in behind me, then pulled me toward him, so I buried my face into his chest once again, the length of his body beneath mine felt warm and solid and real. And safe.
And so I cried as his hand stroked up and down my back, as he placed kisses on the top of my head. And cried some more, letting my fear bleed away, until I slept.
16
GRAY
Seeing Emory cry was like having a knife shoved into my gut and twisted, jagged and raw and excruciating. While I knew she wasn’t injured—thank fuck—her adrenaline had finally bled away, leaving the stark reality of the night exposed. I was glad to see her cry, to know she was working through the feelings, to let them out.
I’d been such a shit leaving her alone. It was what I thought she would want—peace and quiet and no worries that I had underhanded desires for getting her in my bed. Seeing her so… broken and lost, I’d tried. I really had tried to leave her be, but I didn’t have the strength or the willpower to do so. I needed her with a ferocity that scared me, but I didn’t fucking care about my own fears. I had to ease Emory’s. When she was happy, I was happy. When she was scared, I was fucking scared.
While I thought she might not need me, I needed to hold her, to know deep down that she was safe and whole. I burst back into the guest room to ask her if I could stay with her, to hold her so I could sleep, but her tears, fuck, her tears. I carried her to my bed where we could fit more comfortably, where, hell, I’d never taken a woman before. I wanted her there, in my bed, because she belonged there. She belonged with me,