Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(52)

“Physically, just a little banged up, but it shook her.” Damian snatched his suit jacket from the back of a stool. “She’s changing her clothes. I don’t think she had dinner. She could probably use something to eat.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I’m sorry, Conor. I have a teenager in big trouble waiting for me.” Folding his jacket over his arm, Damian headed for the door. “Louisa will have to fill you in on the details. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Conor paced the kitchen. The rushing water sound ceased. He froze, the breath tightening in his lungs as the door opened.

“Damian, I can’t get this zipper.” Louisa stopped short. The dog sat next to her feet and looked up at her. “Conor.”

She stood barefoot in the entry to the kitchen. His gaze snapped to the bruise on her chin and the stark white bandages on her hands and knees. Her hair tumbled down her back in a wild blond tangle. The slim black dress left her arms bare. Her face was pale, her eyes exhausted, and her dress torn.

He wanted to rush to her, to fold her in his arms, but he couldn’t. She hadn’t called for him, and that fact stung even as relief at seeing her whole and minimally injured swept through him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “I was with Damian when you called him. What happened?”

“While I was waiting for a cab, someone shoved or bumped me in front of a bus.”

“Which one was it?”

“I don’t know.” Louisa didn’t move forward either. “The sidewalk was crowded. Detective Jackson showed up at the hospital. He said he’d look into it.”

“But you’re all right?”

“Yes.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. She winced and reflexively touched her swollen jaw.

“Let me get you some ice for that.”

She exhaled as if she’d made a decision. Then she limped closer and turned around. “Would you unzip me?” She lifted her hair over her head with both hands.

Being careful to not pinch her skin, Conor drew the zipper down slowly from her neck to the small of her back. Inch by inch, the fabric parted, revealing the straps of her bra and a whole lot of soft skin. His hands itched with the need to strip the dress from her body and check every inch of her skin for injury. He lowered his head and kissed the back of her neck. The dimples at the base of her spine tempted him to press his lips there, but he resisted. “I wish you’d have called me.”

She leaned against him and dropped her hair. Her body deflated with a slow exhalation of breath and tension.

“Me too,” she whispered.

Enjoying the weight of her body, he rested his temple against the side of her head. His hands stroked up her arms. “Why did you call Damian instead of me?”

“Less risk.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Damian is just a friend.”

“So what am I?”

“More.” She turned around. Her eyes misted. Behind the unshed tears, conflict lurked. “What I feel for you scares me. I’m not sure I can give you what you want. What you need. What you deserve. I just might not have it in me.”

“Don’t shut me out. Talk to me.” Conor wiped the pad of his thumb under her eye, catching a tear before it rolled down her cheek. “Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.”

Doubt and fear flickered in her eyes.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.” She stared at the center of his chest for a minute, her blond lashes concealing any change in her emotions. “I’ll try, but it’s not going to happen overnight. I’m used to being alone.” Her voice was hoarse, as if her words were sandpaper in her throat.

Conor took the admission as progress—and accepted it as enough for one night.

“OK. Baby steps then.” He grinned. “Do you need help getting the rest of your clothes off? Please say yes.”

The corner of her mouth tilted upward. “I think I can manage.”

“Too bad.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. Her eyes didn’t look so bleak. “What can I do for you?”

“I could use some ibuprofen and ice.”

“Have you eaten?”

She hesitated, her eyelids dropping like shutters. “No.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened to dinner?”

“Not right now.”

“OK. Later then, but you’re not getting out of talking to me.” He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you change, and I’ll see what I can rustle up in your kitchen.”

She backed away. “There’s not much in there.”

“I like a challenge.”

Kirra followed Louisa into the bedroom. Conor went into the kitchen, which was mostly empty. He sniffed a quart of skim milk. Sour. He emptied it in the sink and tossed the carton in the trash. Two containers of moldy Chinese takeout followed. He set cheese and bread on the counter and rooted through the cabinets until he found a frying pan. A few minutes later, butter sizzled around a grilled cheese sandwich, and the kitchen filled with the scent. In the pantry, he found a can of tomato soup.

He put the soup and sandwich out on the island. With the dog trailing behind, Louisa returned in a baggy sweatshirt, yoga pants, and thick socks. She eased onto a stool. Conor watched, pleased, as she ate half the sandwich. Chewing looked painful, and she moved on to the soup. She consumed most of it before she pushed the bowl aside.