chestnut hair and rub it for her, to take away some of the stress he’d ultimately caused. If she’d let him, he’d do just about anything to ease that anxiety and worry running through her whole body.
“Okay,” she finally said. “You win. I’m too tired to fight about this tonight.” She glanced at Simone. “But I know you have Shannon to worry about.” Then to Mitch, “And if this is as bad as we think, it’s not smart for Simone to be alone, either. It was made common knowledge today that she’s my lawyer. That she’s the one who recognized me first.”
“Kate—” Simone started.
“Humor me, Simone. I’ll feel better knowing you’re not alone, either. I don’t want to be the cause of anyone getting hurt. And we’re not all invading your house.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t argue with the woman,” Mitch said quickly. “She’s always been smart.”
Simone frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. But in her eyes, Ryan saw she wasn’t going to argue. She was as freaked out by all of this as the rest of them. “This doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about anything, Mathews.”
“Yet,” Mitch said with a grin.
Ryan wanted to laugh, but the situation was anything but funny. Then he realized what it all meant. When he looked toward Annie again, she was already eyeing him. His stomach flipped.
“I guess that leaves you and me,” she said. “My place or yours?”
***
Ryan tossed his keys on the entry table and closed the front door behind Annie. She wandered into his living room without a word and stopped in front of the fireplace, where a series of framed photos of their life together still sat on the mantel. Their wedding photo, the day they’d brought Julia home from the hospital, a picture of the two of them on a hiking trip up one of those stupid mountains she’d always been dragging him to.
What did she think when she looked at those pictures? Did she feel anything? His palms grew sweaty. His stomach churned like it was set on the spin cycle of a washing machine.
Guilt slithered in as he watched her look from photo to photo, clamped on tight to his heart. Guilt for not looking for her when he should have. Guilt for what was happening now. Guilt over the fact someone had purposely hurt her five years ago and that it could possibly be because of him.
He raked a hand through his hair, knowing dwelling on that guilt wasn’t going to change anything. The only thing that mattered now was keeping her safe. “Are you tired?”
She turned to face him. Moonlight spilled through the picture window, illuminating her features. Those deep green eyes, the high-set cheekbones, that mass of curly hair that fell to her shoulders and which he ached to slide his fingers through. “Exhausted.”
Her tired voice was like velvet and sandpaper all wrapped up together. He wanted to hear her say his name in that same sleepy tone like she had so many times before. Wanted to pick her up and take her to his bed. Wanted to wrap her in his arms, slide inside her body, and block out the rest of the world.
But he knew he couldn’t. She still wasn’t sure of him. He’d been an ass to her when he’d first found out who she was, and now they both knew he was indirectly responsible for her accident. Her wariness was warranted, and he didn’t want to push her. As much as he wanted—needed—to touch her, he wanted her to want him back. Even if it was only a fraction of his want for her.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll show you the guest room.”
He picked up her bag, the one they’d driven out to Moss Beach to get, and headed up the stairs. Her feet shuffled behind him, her sweet scent of lilacs drifted in the air. He hardened at just the thought of her lying in a bed down the hall from him tonight, so very close. So completely alive.
Cold shower. That’s what he needed right now. Maybe two. Or ten.
He pushed the guest-room door open, and when she eased by him, those silky strands of hair brushed his shoulder. Heavy tingling sensations shot straight to his groin.
“This is nice,” she said, turning a slow circle as she took in the pale blue walls, the white comforter on the queen-sized bed, the whitewashed furniture a decorator had picked out.