“Dammit, Cypress, this is a dump.” Frustration eats at me, and I thrust my fingers through my hair, fisting the strands so I don’t go over and shake some sense in her. Damn that. So I don’t touch her at all. “This place isn’t safe.”
“It’ll have to do until I find another one,” she argues, temper clipping her tone. “I hate to point out the obvious—well, actually no, I don’t mind doing it at all. This isn’t your business.I’mnot your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I growl.
She snorts. “Putting your dick in me doesn’t give you rights. If that was the case, there would be—”
“Don’t. Fucking. Say. It.” I take a step toward her. Stop. Take another step. Stop again. She’s waved a bright-ass red flag in front of my face, and I’m seconds away from charging.
She’s right; we smashed, and that’s the end of any “us.” I have as much rights to her as a squatter. But hearing her utter another man’s name or even speak about other men who stroked that perfect body like I did will only stir the hungry, dark thing inside of me that has no other purpose but—how did she say it?—putting my dick in her again. And again. And again, until I wipe all thought of other men out of her memory.
The silence between us stretches, thickens. It’s weighty with exactlywhyher welfare is my business. She’s family. But contrary to what she claims, because we did have sex…because she trusted me not to hurt her when she was at her most vulnerable…because she put her body and pleasure into my care, I do have a right to protect her. I don’t know what kind of assholes she’s used to, but I’m not one of them.
“Look,” she says again, on the tail of a sigh. “I appreciate your—”
“Come home with me,” I cut her off again, and the blunt words reverberate in the room.
Her eyes widen as her lips part, the soft gasp echoing like a sonic boom.
The same shock ricochets off my rib cage, ping-ponging its way up my throat. I hadn’t intended to deliver that offer—hell, who are we kidding?—order. I hadn’t even known the idea germinated in my head until it broke free of my mouth. But now that it’s out there…I’m not rescinding it. Even though me, myself, and I just had a conversation about Cypress being off-limits and keeping my distance, I still don’t take it back.
A calm, a sense of rightness settles in my chest, dispersing most of the shock.
No doubt, she’s coming home with me. It’s either that, or I’ll have to stand here all night guarding her…and our cars.
“No.” She shakes her head, the tips of her hair hitting her chin. “Absolutely not. I can’t.”
I cross my arms and prop a hip on the outdated set of drawers, silently praying it doesn’t collapse under my weight. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Can’t,” she stresses, glaring at me. “Icannotstay with you.”
“So you would rather remain in this pit where there’s a high chance you could be robbed, assaulted, or worse rather than stay at my apartment? An apartment you’ve already been to and know is a hundred times better than this place,” I drawl. “Yeah, sounds legit.”
A growl rumbles from her, and like back in that alley, it rolls over my skin, strokes my cock. I lower my arms and my fingers tighten around the rim of the dresser.
“You don’t understand,” she snaps. Then, heaving a heavy gust of air, snatches off her heels and drops to the sagging mattress. She tunnels her fingers through her dark hair, her head bowed. Defeat damn near radiates from her, and it’s a haymaker to the jaw. I’ve seen Cypress angry, bold, fierce, confident, even nervous. But I’ve never witnessed her defeated; not even at the dinner table earlier when every word she uttered ended up being a lobbed verbal bomb.
It’s not sitting right; it doesn’t belong on her shoulders.
Before I can caution myself about the wisdom of getting close to her, I cross the space separating us and stroke a hand over the soft, thick strands of her hair.
She stills. We’re so close, our knees bump, her scent—apple and roses warmed by skin—teases me. My fingers cover hers, and after a moment, she drops her arms, and I sweep my palm down her head, cupping the nape of her neck. Her dark fringe of lashes flutters against the delicate, faintly bruised skin under her eyes. I’m on intimate terms with those kinds of bruises. They denote restlessness, lack of sleep…worry. What’s causing her to stare up at the water-stained ceiling in the black of night? What is swirling so hard in that sharp mind that it steals her rest, her peace?
This time, I don’t question the roar of protectiveness that howls inside me. No, she’s not mine, but, in this instant, she’s also not alone. I’m not leaving without her, and she’s going to know, maybe for the first time in her life, that a man isn’t going to walk away unless she’s right there beside him.
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” I gently press her, squeezing her neck with careful pressure. “Whatever you say is safe with me,” I promise.
More beats of silence pass, and I swear I can feel the battle waging in her. This woman doesn’t trust easily. Probably because too many people have broken her faith in them. I don’t want to be another name on that list.
“My mother had a heart attack three months ago,” she finally whispers, those beautiful, soul-deep eyes staring into mine.
“Oh, babe, I’m sorry,” I murmur, cradling her jaw with my other hand and brushing my thumb back and forth over her smooth skin.
“For years, I’ve been all she’s had left of my father, that piece of the man she loved beyond reason and sanity—still does. I’m not going to lie. Being that living souvenir like a magnet stuck on a refrigerator to remind her of the life she lost? It’s been…hard. A burden.” Her harsh crack of laughter is painful to hear. “I feel like such a bitch for admitting that.”
She falls quiet again. What? Is she waiting for judgement from me? She’ll be waiting a long-ass time. I’m the man who carries the secret of his mother’s attempt to kill herself. I, more than anyone in this family, am well-acquainted with parental burdens. And resentment toward them. No, she’ll get no condemnation from me.
“Still, when I was in California and got that phone call from the hospital, the nurse reciting in her detached, this-is-business-as-usual voice that my mom was in critical condition and headed to surgery, I panicked. I’ve never been so damn terrified in my life. Because in that second, it hit me that while I’ve felt so suffocated by being all that she has left to call her own in this world, she’s all I have left, too.”
