Mine to Keep (NOLA Knights #3) - Rhenna Morgan Page 0,41

to trust him. To lower her guard and let herself be vulnerable.

The realization rocked him. Left him stunned and shaken more than any of the dangerous situations he’d encountered in his life.

One tiny woman.

One spitfire who’d fought and clawed to keep herself whole and healthy despite the nest of vipers and narcissists she’d been born into had humbled him and left him speechless like no other.

Yes. He would protect her. Help her and give her cause to believe in herself. If for no other reason than to thank her for this moment. For sharing her trust and her vulnerability with him even if it wasn’t deserved.

As foreign and unforgivable as the act may be, he allowed himself one indulgence and smoothed his hand down the back of her head. “Sleep, moya malen’kaya koroleva. I will keep you safe.”

Chapter Nine

The sun was up.

A simple thought. One Bonnie wanted to ignore in favor of the deep and peaceful place that held her. No tension in her body. No desire to move. Just sweet, comfortable peace.

Resting on her side, she snuggled deeper beneath the covers, blocking the light from the backs of her eyes. God, she was warm. Cocooned with the perfect amount of weight and softness. Surrounded by a delicious scent that made her think of snow-covered forests, evergreen trees and log cabins with a roaring fire.

Crisp and clean.

Earthy.

Deeply masculine.

Her eyes snapped open and her heart jolted even though the rest of her body stayed locked solidly in place.

This wasn’t her bed.

Wasn’t her room.

It’s Roman’s.

Hoooly shit. She’d fallen asleep next to him. Had cuddled up close to him like some terrified puppy.

And then what?

She had absolutely zero details beyond that. Only a rapid-fire replay of all the stuff that had happened before Roman had appeared and how terrified she’d felt when she’d realized he was about to leave her alone.

Geez. The guy probably thought she was a lunatic with the way she’d behaved. Or weak. She’d wanted to ask questions on the way home. Remembered trying to focus her mind and get her shit together, but hadn’t been able to get her thoughts or body to cooperate. She’d just sat there. Unable and unwilling to move. So much so the guy had actually had to carry her into his house.

And she’d let him.

No, that wasn’t right.

She hadn’t just let him. She’d completely curled herself into him and let go of everything. Had given up completely.

But he’d been there. Had put her in bed, thoughtfully covered her with a blanket and lain next to her when she’d asked. No complaining. No fidgeting. Just gently stroked her head and assured her she was safe.

Roman Kozlov—the big badass Russian—had cuddled her. The same man she’d watched cripple one man in smooth, practiced movements, and disarm and stab another without any hesitation.

Seriously. What the fuck was she supposed to do with those little nuggets? And more than that, how was she under the covers now? Because she sure as hell didn’t remember crawling under them herself.

She wiggled her feet. No shoes, but her socks were on. Her jeans were still on, too, but her jacket was MIA. So, was it him who’d gotten her in bed? Or had she somehow done it herself in a blacked-out state?

Risking a peek at her environment, she lifted her head out from behind the heavy comforter.

Bold, beautiful sunshine poured through a huge picture window. Deep fern green curtains made of some thick expensive looking material lined each edge. The wall behind her was painted the same color as the drapes, but the others were a soft dove gray. The comforter stretched over the bed was charcoal gray and looked like it belonged on an emperor’s bed.

But no sign of Roman.

She pushed herself upright and leaned against the sinfully plush pillows. The rest of the room’s details were equally upscale—masculine furniture stained in taupes and grays with a weathered finish, a huge dark gray Belvedere rug that stretched out from beneath the bed and soft gray carpet beneath it. In front of the window was a small table with velvet covered green chairs on either side that didn’t look big enough to hold his weight. Her jacket was neatly folded on one of them and her boots perched on top.

Guess that answered who was in charge of getting her under the covers, because she sure as hell hadn’t been in any state to be that tidy.

She flattened the covers over her lap, folded her hands on the top of them and