“I wanted to go home.”
He inhaled sharply and then explained in an annoyingly patient voice, “Your home doesn’t have a lift. There’s a leak in the kitchen. More importantly, Faolan…” He stepped in fully now. “The place is bugged. High-tech stuff, not cheap.”
She stared at him.
“I had it swept. If I didn’t, Lirian would have insisted. Whoever it was, they were thorough. Hidden cameras, audio mics. They would have been able to hear you swallow a sip of water.”
Her mouth went dry. “What?”
“It’s not safe. Obviously, we haven’t caught all the key players,” he said softly. “Please… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“You should’ve discussed it with me first,” she grumbled.
“I know.” He looked away. “I’m sorry.”
But from his stance, it was obvious that he wasn’t letting her go anywhere.
“I made chicken noodle soup. Are you hungry?”
She didn’t answer, still trying to make her slow brain crabwalk through all that information.
“Do you need help to get to the bathroom?” he asked.
“No.”
But he was already crossing the room, steadying her as she tried to get out of bed. His hands were gentle as he helped her stand. His hand swept up to gently squeeze the back of her neck in a strangely possessive gesture before letting go.
Once she was steady, he walked just ahead and opened a sleek door to the side.
“I’ll help you with your bath after you have eaten,” he said. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
She scowled. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to stay; I can take a bath myself.”
“I can wait,” he replied simply, in a tone that brooked no refusal.
The bathroom was opulent. A walk-in shower and a deep stone bathtub stood next to each other. Clean towels and shampoo that smelled expensive were neatly stacked in a cupboard. On looking closely, there was also her favourite brand of shampoo, face cream, and other toiletries. She took her time while her eyes kept wandering back to the array of bottles on the shelf. This had been well-planned. When she emerged after doing her business, she found him still waiting just outside the door.
“You alright?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. It was a wee, not major surgery.”
She tried to brush past him, but his arms came up, catching her lightly around the waist, and she immediately stiffened.
“I don’t like these liberties you’re taking with my body,” she muttered.
He groaned as his hands tightened around her waist. “Let me hold you for a minute.”
“Thane…”
“Please.”
There was a raw desperation there, like something he had been holding back for a long while burst wide open. Like Pandora’s box, there was no stuffing it back.
She stood frozen, unsure until he slowly wrapped his arms around her. She could feel every muscle plastered against her front. Every breath he took as his chest rose and fell felt like bellows against her ear.
The scent of him was overwhelming—familiar and dangerous to her mental health.
He held her for a long moment, then reluctantly let her go, his fingers lingering.
