Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(31)

Her father had to know this was her fault. The granddaddy of all lectures probably awaited her if she got home—and not just from him, but from various members of his staff, Charles included. Charles especially. He would not understand how she could have bailed on her security detail. He would deem it the height of recklessness and irresponsibility. Not that he would be wrong. Especially in hindsight.

She blinked at her reflection, just then catching her previous slip. When she got home. Not if. Reid wouldn’t hurt her. Sure, he hadn’t released her yet, but he wasn’t like the others. Truly. And yet there was still that intensity to him, a look in his eyes that made her stomach knot. She didn’t understand it. It wasn’t fear precisely. It was something else. Something uncomfortable. He might not be like the others, but the man was dangerous.

Shaking off the tangled thoughts, she dropped the towel and slipped on the well-worn cotton T-shirt. The boxers were too big and she had to fold them at the waist several times, which only hiked them up.

Closing her fingers around the doorknob, she stepped out of the bathroom in her indecently short boxers and plain cotton T-shirt. She half expected him to be standing there, waiting for her with that hard expression of his, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The house was silent. A lamp beside the couch radiated a low glow that saved the place from total darkness. It was something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She almost expected to see a pair of little girls in old-fashioned nightgowns scampering across the wood floors, dragging rag dolls behind them.

Blinking, she shook off the fanciful image. There was nothing sweet about this scenario. Her bare feet padded quietly across the wood plank floor. She moved tentatively, stealthily. She slid a longing glance to the front door, wondering if she should dare try again. She might use up the last of his goodwill if she attempted another escape tonight. No, the next time—and there would be a next time—would be better planned so she wouldn’t fail. This whole nightmare was her fault. The least she could do was get it right by escaping.

She moved to the door of the room where she had earlier slept and peered inside. He was there (thankfully no longer naked), pulling back the covers. Her lungs tightened, air seizing for a moment at the way his back worked and rippled with his movements. Whose back looked like that? Two possibilities popped into her mind. A Calvin Klein model or a felon who had a lot of time to work out. Obviously, she knew which one he was.

He looked up at her from where he was leaning over the bed and slowly straightened, putting that big body of his on even further display. He wore a pair of sweatpants that sat low on his hips. It was sinful, the way his skin looked both soft and hard at the same time, stretching over ridges of sinew and cut muscle.

She wasn’t the only one staring. He took his time looking her up and down in her ensemble of T-shirt and ill-fitting boxers. “Feel better?”

She nodded jerkily, tucking the hair behind her ears self-consciously and glancing from him to the bed. With the covers pulled back, it looked inviting . . . big enough to sleep two. She lifted her chin. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed. I know you took a nap, but I’m beat.”

Nap or not, she didn’t feel rested.

“You’re sleeping in here?” She pointed to the wall in the direction of the neighboring room. “But there’s another bedroom.”

“Yeah. After your little sprint through the woods, that idea gets a fat no.”

“You’re sleeping with me?” she asked, needing the clarification, needing to hear him say it before she could even start to panic.

He nodded, a grim twist to his mouth. “You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you. So this is where we’re at.”

She didn’t want to be at this place at all. Not with him. Not again.

Her gaze flicked to him and the bed, the panic in her heart alive and real. “No.”

He angled his head as though not trusting his hearing. “No?”

She nodded.

He sighed, and she heard the weariness in that sound. “I’m not up for another battle with you, Grace. Just give me a night to sleep and I promise we can keep playing this cat and mouse game tomorrow.”

She pulled back in affront. “This isn’t a game to me. It’s my life.”

“And I promise you’ll get back your life. Just a few more days.” His steely gaze held her stare for a long moment, as though hoping to let that sink in, hoping to convince her. “But right now I’m getting in this bed and so are you.”

She inhaled and took a step away, letting that be her answer.

His glittering eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his nicely formed chest. It galled her that she couldn’t help noticing that. Those nice arms only seemed to draw attention to that chest. “Is this because of the last time?”

Last time. He meant last night. It already felt a lifetime ago.

“I promise there won’t be any of that going on, ” he added. That being his hand fondling her between her legs and making her almost orgasm on the spot. That being the most shameful and mortifying thing to ever happen to her. “Even if I was interested, I’m exhausted.”

“Oh. That’s right. I’m not your ‘type.’” The words burst forth before she could stop herself. And she hated them. Hated herself for saying it. She sounded wounded when really it was skepticism she felt. Was she so undesirable? He was a felon fresh out of prison. He couldn’t be that picky.