Don't Need You - Lilian Monroe Page 0,15

Angelo had such control over me. I can’t even resist the touch of a guy I met a few hours ago. What chance do I have in the world on my own?

My eyes are drawn to Kit’s body, and I wonder if he felt it too. The electricity. The energy. The pure hotness burning at the apex of my thighs.

The lock on my front door turns, and Robbie calls out into the living room. “Serena?”

“In here,” I say as Kit takes a step back from me. He clears his throat, running his fingers through his hair and turning toward the kitchen entrance. I catch him adjusting the waistband of his jeans, and I wonder if it’s because of me.

Robbie appears in the doorway, his eyes flicking between us. “You okay?”

I nod. “Fine. Did you catch him?”

Robbie’s lips turn down and he shakes his head. “Fucker got away.” He lets out a long breath and finally jerks his chin toward the bedroom. “Get some stuff. You’ll sleep at my place tonight.”

I don’t have the energy to protest, so I let out a breath and nod. “Okay.”

I’d planned on doing more packing tonight, and I wanted Robbie to help me bring some boxes to a storage locker. I’m not leaving for six weeks, but I want to get a head start. Now, though, I feel weak and small and afraid. All I want to do is curl up in a ball, retreat into my shell, and never poke my head out again.

And, I realize, I want Kit’s arms around me again. I want to melt the ice inside me and watch it puddle at my feet.

Shaking the thought away, I stuff some clothing into a backpack. I grab my toothbrush, toiletries, and let my hands hover over my perfume and makeup bag.

I don’t need them for a night or two at my twin brother’s house.

Still, I put the items in my bag. A part of me doesn’t want to look like a mess when I wake up in the morning. Glancing in the mirror, I wipe my face where my mascara smudged and swipe some lip gloss on.

My insecurities try to scream at me. They try to tell me it’s pathetic, wanting to look good for a guy I just met. Whore, Angelo’s voice echoes in my brain.

I shove it down and ignore them, choosing instead to run my fingers through my hair and tie it up in a messy bun, as if to spite my own weakness. Kit’s warmth still snakes in my belly, and I focus on the sensation as I make myself look presentable.

When I’m ready, I join the boys in the living room. Robbie’s expression is murderous, and Kit looks on edge. I’m sorry to have dragged him into my mess, and even more sorry to impose on him. I’m basically ruining his Thanksgiving and inviting myself over to live at his house.

Still, when his eyes meet mine, Kit’s face softens. My heart grows, and I wonder if maybe he doesn’t mind that I’ll be staying with him.

Robbie nods, and the three of us head back to the car. When we get downstairs, Robbie and Kit scan the street like two members of the Secret Service. Kit opens the passenger door for me and I almost refuse, but his face is impassive. I slide into the front seat and watch him fold his long legs into the back, comforted by his closeness.

My brother gets in the driver’s seat, but I hardly notice. It’s like every sense is zeroed in on Kit. I can feel him shift his weight behind me. I can sense his breath. His heartbeat.

Then, gently, his hand slides between the door and my seat and he puts a finger on my hip. I lean back into the chair, closing my eyes and enjoying his touch. Just one finger on my hip has the power to calm my racing heart. It makes me feel safe. Protected.

It sends a current of warmth flowing through my veins, like my blood is thrumming happily at his closeness. My cheeks flush as I let out a sigh, and Kit’s finger curls against my flesh.

Robbie can’t see it, and I’m glad. He glances over at me, nodding, then we drive to his house in silence.

Kit’s finger stays on my hip, and I long to lay my hand over his. I want to crawl onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck, feeling the raw power and safety that exists