after midnight, and I just don’t have the energy to argue with her when she tries to defend her friend’s actions.
Instead of walking away, going back to her own damn room or heading downstairs, Anna twists the doorknob to my room. The ranch house is old, built by my grandfather who passed it down to me in his will several years ago, and that means there are no locks on the inner doors. To my grandfather, a closed door yielded the people inside privacy, and he felt no need to enforce that privacy with a lock. When the door slowly creaks open, I’m regretting not having added deadbolts to my list when I was working through the renovations.
“Deacon,” Anna whispers, and I can tell by the tone in her voice that she really doesn’t want to wake me.
My back is to the door, but I close my eyes even though she can’t see my face. If something was truly wrong, she wouldn’t have bothered to knock. She would have shoved the door open or screamed for help from her room.
I continue to pretend to be asleep, praying that she backs out playing on a loop in my head. A ragged, shuddering breath nearly makes me turn over, but I resist. Comforting her right now would be too much for me. It’s the last thing I need. We’ll find Dani and then we’ll be right back out of each other’s lives, probably for good this time.
The stupid yearning I’ve felt for her recently is something I’ll have to deal with later, but the longer she stands across the room, the longer I hear her shallow breathing, and the harder it is to keep from adding to my burden. The things I’m going to have to deal with later are growing exponentially, and I know it won’t take much before things become impossible.
Anna doesn’t back out when I fail to respond. She doesn’t head back to her room, putting the distance that I need between us.
She crosses the room, standing at the side of the bed for so long, I nearly gasp because I’m holding my breath. Then she tugs back the covers at my back and climbs in the fucking bed with me.
My chest hurts from the strength in which my heart is pounding. My cock… let’s just say he’s not upset one bit that the fiery girl with honey-colored eyes is mere inches away.
My eyes snap open, staring into the darkness as she settles, and when she sighs, I can tell she’s facing away from me. I hate her in this moment. Hate that her breath isn’t warming my neck. Hate that she’s maintained some distance and not a single inch of her soft skin is touching me. Hate that my hands aren’t roaming up her thigh. Hate that my fingers aren’t splayed across the flat expanse of her lower belly.
Fuck, I just hate everything right now.
Then a sob escapes her mouth, and I freeze, her crying and trembling shake the bed, and I can tell she’s trying to be quiet. She didn’t crawl into this bed as a trick, a way to entice me. She’s terrified, or upset, or a little of both.
How could anyone resist that?
I need to ignore the fact that I want to sink inside of her, that I want to watch her lips part on a moan when I shove myself all the way into her. Ignore that my fingers itch to twist her nipples and test her limits. Ignore my body’s primal need to make her come.
She’s hurting, scared, and unsure of what the hell is going on, and I’m the only man who knows the details, the one close enough to the situation to ease those fears, and I’ve done nothing but treat her like a hardship. If she were an actual client, I wouldn’t be this close to the situation, but I would answer questions. I would explain what’s going on.
I’ve made this situation different, not her.
When she buries her face in the pillow in an attempt to be quiet, I can’t take it anymore. I turn on the mattress, immediately wrapping my arms around her and pulling her against my body as much as I can without making it painfully obvious what her being in my bed does to me.
Not a single word is spoken as I lace my arm around her midsection and bury my hand under her side. I press my lips to the back of her head, breathing