“I don’t need a hero. I can sort out my own problems. Please, go.” She looked away, drained of strength.
“Not going anywhere, love.”
Jamie scooped her up into his arms and carried her tothe bathroom, setting her feet on the fluffy mat at the shower.
Supporting her with his solid body, he turned on the shower, holding his hand under the stream, waiting for it to heat up.
Their gazes locked, and for a fleeting second, something unspoken passed between them. Her pride screamed at her to force him away, to not let him get too close.
But her heart ached for the comfort he somehow gave her.
Jamie crouched, his eyes level with her zipper as he pulled it down and took his time to pull them past her hips, careful not to rush.
As they reached her ankles, he paused for a moment, his gaze flicking upward, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“You’re wearing them,” he said, his voice low.
Her breath caught as she realised what he meant. His red boxer briefs, soaked through, were the only thing of his she had left.
“They’re comfy. That’s all,” she muttered, the lie hollow as it left her lips. “You can have them back once I’ve washed them.”
“Keep them, love. They look better on you.”
Her fingertips skimmed his shoulders, the heat of his skin sending a buzz through her. She jerked her hand away, forcing herself to focus on the bathroom door.
As he tugged her breeches from her feet and pulled off her soaked socks, the fire inside her sparked.
She tried to block out the overwhelming pull ofhis presence, but her body betrayed her, reacting to every movement, every breath between them.
“Look at me, love,” his voice was low but firm, the command softened only by his concern. “I need you to see me. To trust me.”
The weight of his gaze made her heart race, and despite the walls she’d built, a part of her couldn’t resist. As he knelt before her, she lowered her gaze to meet his.
Their direct eye contact left her vulnerable, exposed, but a sense of safety had her muscles relaxing, his silent power wrapping around her like a protective shield.
“Who hurt you?”
The way he said it was different this time. There was no command in his tone, only a raw, guttural need to fix whoever had broken her.
His anger was still there, but it was tempered by something deeper—a promise, a vow to make things right, no matter the cost.
“Don’t pity me. I’m fine,” she croaked, forcing out a strangled gasp.
She let him peel off the boxers, aware of his gaze drilling into every bruise. Jamie had always asked for her trust, and she had given it to him.
This time, the circumstances were different, yet she still surrendered without a fight.
“This isn’t who I am, Jamie,” she said, her voice tight with the effort of holding her composure. “I’m stronger than this.”
She was the girl who fell off Trixie mid-competition, broke two fingers, and got straight back in the saddle, charging toward the finishing fence.
Shannon had more guts than most men, but this entire ordeal had stripped away her defences, knocking her self-esteem sideways like an out-of-control truck.
Jamie rose, snaked his arms around her, and unhooked her bra, his breath warm against the side of her face.
“I know who you are,” he said. “Being vulnerable in situations like this doesn’t make you weak. Surviving whatever this is makes you the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
He placed a slow kiss to her bruised shoulder, the gentle sensation deeply anchoring.
