The Protector (Game of Chance, #1)(28)
When he finally tore himself away, he visited the bathroom, read a little, checked on Baxter, made himself a snack . . . and still Carlise slept. Chappy knew he should probably wake her, otherwise she might not sleep through the night, but he didn’t have the heart. She was clearly exhausted from the stress of looking after him for days.
But also from whatever had chased her out of Cleveland. All the way to his out-of-the-way cabin in the first place.
She’d said enough for him to assume her ex—possibly the one who’d hurt her—was causing her problems. He could only further assume she was running from the asshole . . . which was infuriating. Chappy hated to think about anyone hurting Carlise.
While the noodles boiled, he went outside and started the generator so he could check his cameras. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; he didn’t think for a minute that she’d searched through his cabin for valuables she could steal. He was more curious about what he’d said in his delirium.
His friends told him he was paranoid, that having cameras inside his cabin as well as outside was going too far. But Chappy didn’t care. After being kidnapped and tortured, he needed the reassurance the cameras gave him that all was right in the cabin when he wasn’t there.
There were two tiny cameras set up on opposite ends of the main space, allowing him to see everything that went on. They were connected to an app on his cell phone, which luckily still had enough charge for him to download. He also had satellite internet at the cabin that worked when the generator was on, allowing him to get texts and emails. It was often unreliable, especially during high winds or any sort of weather event. He’d been meaning to install a booster, a better antenna, but hadn’t done so before the snowstorm hit.
He held his breath, hoping he’d have enough of a signal to download the videos from the hard drive. Thankfully he did, but it was super slow. In the past, that usually meant the internet would peter out completely. The fact that he was able to download the footage from the last few days was a minor miracle in itself.
After the videos downloaded, he turned off the generator and went back inside, leaning against the counter in the kitchen and bringing up the app on his phone. Nothing he saw in the videos made him change his mind about Carlise.
Scrubbing through the footage, he watched her help him to the bathroom and back to bed several times, help him into a clean T-shirt, fret over him as she tried to get him to drink water or eat.
And he couldn’t stop watching, over and over, the moment when she’d sat on his bed to soothe him when he’d called out in his sleep. The way he’d reached for her, even in his delirium.
The way their bodies naturally wrapped around each other as they slept.
It was no wonder she’d felt so familiar in his arms when she’d been on his lap. She fit against him perfectly, curvy in all the right places, and he particularly enjoyed how touchy-feely the woman was, how her first reaction to his nightmares was to try to make him feel better.
The truth of the matter was, it had worked. When she shushed him, touched him . . . when he was holding her, all the shit in his head quieted down, giving him rare and blessed peace.
There was something special about Carlise Edwards, and while watching those videos, Chappy decided he couldn’t let her slip away.
Maybe he was desperate. Maybe he just hadn’t had a woman’s attention for far too long. But he didn’t think so. If he’d met Carlise on the streets of Cleveland, he had no doubt he’d feel the same draw toward her as he did out here in the wilds of Maine. He’d been prepared to take care of her, to nurse her back to health after finding her in that storm, but the roles had been switched. She’d taken care of him perfectly.
And based on the videos, she’d apparently done it without an ounce of disgust or exasperation. She’d done what she needed to do for his well-being, and her own.
That was the kind of woman Chappy wanted. Someone who didn’t freak out when shit hit the fan. Who rolled with the punches. She’d managed for three days without electricity or any way to heat the food she’d found in his pantry. She eventually would’ve figured out either the stove or how to heat something over the fire. In the meantime, she didn’t bitch about the circumstances she’d found herself in. Carlise merely adapted.
Chappy also couldn’t deny the way she acted with the dog went a long way toward endearing her to him, as well. He had a soft spot for abused animals, and Baxter was as abused as any dog he’d seen in a long time. He’d literally saved Carlise’s life, and Chappy was relieved she’d gone out of her way to give Bax a safe space, to make sure he was fed.
Yes, all in all, Carlise was exactly the kind of woman he’d dreamed about . . . back when he still thought he had a chance for a true relationship. Being held captive had changed him, changed his outlook. Since then, all he’d wanted was to be left alone.
Until Carlise appeared in his life. Now, he already couldn’t imagine her leaving.
Chappy felt a little bad about the cameras, but he’d tell her when she woke up. He didn’t want her to think he was spying. They were just there for security reasons when he wasn’t at the cabin.
A noise from the living area drew his attention, and Chappy turned to see Carlise sitting up on the couch. Her eyes were unfocused, her hair was a mess, and her T-shirt was twisted around her so tightly, he could see every delicious curve.
“What time is it?” she asked groggily.
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