Gently, she pulled her hand from his and ran it over her hair. “I’m just tired and not thinking clearly. I need some rest.”
He didn’t want to break the connection, but she’d already done it, was putting up those barriers again and blocking him out. Why couldn’t he read her? Why couldn’t he figure out what she was thinking? He’d always been able to do that with her. He didn’t want to admit she was different, but she was. So much about her was different from what he remembered.
Reluctantly, he pushed to his feet. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
She smiled when he didn’t move. Not a seductive, made-for-him grin, but a forced, uncomfortable curl of her luscious lips that said it was way past time he left.
He pulled the bedroom door closed behind him, then gripped the handle for support. And alone in the empty hall, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the door. Everything he’d ever wanted was inside that room, and he didn’t know how to get it. Every move he made was the wrong one. Each step he took seemed to push her further away instead of draw her closer. Was he fooling himself into thinking he could ever win her back?
He sure the hell hoped not. Because he knew for certain he’d never survive losing her again.
Chapter Fourteen
Simone sat upright in bed when she heard the crash.
Glass breaking. From somewhere downstairs. Someone was in the house.
She threw back the covers, reached for the baseball bat she kept under her bed, then opened her bedroom door as quietly as she could. Nothing moved in the hall. The only light shone from a nightlight in the bathroom. She padded soundlessly across the hardwood floor, pushed Shannon’s door open. Her daughter lay on her belly, arms over her head, dead to the world in deep sleep.
Her pulse pounded hard as she moved for the stairs. Two steps from the bottom, the wood creaked, and she froze. Her heart lurched into her throat. From the direction of the kitchen, she heard the sound of broken glass being scraped across the ground.
She swallowed hard, lifted the bat above her shoulder, and inched her way toward the kitchen. Steve had always talked about getting a gun. She’d told him he was stupid. But right now…now she wished she’d listened. She was five feet two, and even though she could swing a bat with the best of them, against a home invader, her measly DeMarini was nothing. She just hoped she got in one good shot that scared the bastard away before anything bad happened.
“Dammit.”
She froze just outside the kitchen door at the sound of the voice. Shit, she needed to call 911. What the hell was she doing trying to handle this alone?
She took a step back just as the kitchen door pushed open. Without thinking, she lowered the bat and swung.
A muffled oof echoed to her ears, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Hard. Adrenaline surging, she rushed into the kitchen, lifted the bat again, ready to strike out. Mitch held up a hand to block her.
“Dammit, don’t hit me with that thing again!”
“Mitch?”
“Who the hell did you think it was?” He gripped his stomach as he lay on the floor, his upper body twisted in on an odd angle against the island cabinets. “The tooth fairy? Dammit, woman, I think you cracked a rib.”
She let go of the bat. Oh, shit. Mitch. Wood clattered against the floor. Stepping over to him, she dropped to her knees and lifted his face to hers. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”
“I was hungry. Chinese food always leaves me hungry in the middle of the night.”
The Chinese takeout. Ryan’s office. Kate asking Mitch to stay with her and Shannon tonight because she was worried about them. She’d been so freaked out when she’d awoken, she’d forgotten everything else.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry,” she said, helping him sit up. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. But my ego’s bruised more than my body. I just got my ass handed to me by a girl.”
He was cracking jokes. He couldn’t be hurt that bad. A little of her anxiety eased. “I heard glass shatter. I thought someone was breaking in.”
In the dim light she watched a nervous expression creep over his face. “Yeah, that was me. I dropped a pitcher of lemonade trying to get to a beer in the