“No.” She sounded relieved and shook her head as if to clear the silly notion all together. Ethan almost grinned. She seemed so sure of herself.
He took the seat, meeting her fuzzy gaze. “You’re right.”
She smiled too broadly and closed her eyes in relief.
“One night is too brief. I was thinking more of a week.” He leaned back. “But it may be two, depending on how helpful you prove.”
She opened her eyes, blinked, and stared at him. “What?”
“I’m staying,” he repeated.
With a moan, she turned her head into the pillows. “What am I to do?” he heard her mumble. “Thiscan’tbe happening.”
Ethan scowled. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “What’s wrong?” she groaned. “The most handsome man in England just moved in with me, and he asks what’s wrong.” Her voice was groggy, but Ethan froze at her words.
This was something new. She thought him the most handsome man in England?
“What’swrong?” She pointed a limp but accusatory finger at him.
“You’rebad!”
“But handsome.” He grinned.
She closed her eyes with a sigh.
“I’m staying,” he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. That fact was non-negotiable. He wouldn’t leave her unprotected again.
She opened her eyes, and her skin seemed to pale in contrast to their dark depths. She looked exhausted, would probably be asleep in a matter of moments.
But first he needed answers. Needed to get his hands on the bastard who’d dared touch her. “Tell me about the attack, sweetheart,” he said, softening his tone. “What happened?”
She closed her eyes, shook her head. “Can’t talk about that,” she mumbled. “Don’t want to.”
He took her hand. “I know. I know you’re scared.”
She opened her eyes, and he saw the fear in them, felt her fingers tense in his.
“But I need you to answer my questions anyway. Who did this?”
“Don’t know.” Her eyes drifted closed. “So tired.”
He was losing her. Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face close to hers. His voice was little more than a whisper. “Tell me something, Francesca. Anything.”
Her eyelids drooped. “I—” She yawned. “I think I love you.”
