Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(31)

After narrowing her eyes and holding his gaze for a long moment, she sneered and said, “It’s Miss James.” Then, like a teenager, she huffed over to her knapsack and made a show of hoisting it onto her shoulder. She didn’t spare a look for Cassie as she clomped down the hall and disappeared into the stairwell.

Cassie watched her mother retreat, her face unreadable. She was still holding her keys from when she’d been chasing him up the stairs—it seemed like a lifetime ago. Gently he pried open her fingers and unlocked the door. She was still staring down the empty hallway. He stepped inside her apartment and said, “Come inside.”

Her eyes jerked to his, as if she’d forgotten he was there, but she obeyed, closing the door behind her and pressing her back against it. Her wide eyes darted around the apartment like she’d never seen it before. God, she looked like a caged animal. He himself was still feeling the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush that had powered him through the confrontation. He took a step toward her and she flinched. “Hey,” he said, speaking softly. “It’s okay.”

She started to shake. He saw then, suddenly, how very alone she was. Dead father—and one who hadn’t been much of a father at that, from the sound of things. A mother who was worse than useless. There was the best friend, he supposed, but where had that guy been lately? Jack was used to being alone. Preferred it, even. He was hard that way. But someone as vibrant as Cassie shouldn’t be alone all the time. It did something to a person, and he didn’t want that something happening to her.

He stretched out his arm toward her, and when she didn’t object, he took another step. He could reach her now, so he palmed her cheek. He kept his hand still—he didn’t want her to think he was coming on to her. He meant only to comfort. The touch seemed to change something in her because the hunted, defensive look slowly began to drain away as she locked eyes with him. But it was replaced by something just as bad. He watched her face crumple, and those big multi-colored eyes that he had once thought of as innocent welled up with tears. So many tears that they began spilling over in earnest—one, two, then too many to count.

“Hey,” he said again, gently pulling her off the wall and into his arms. He hugged her, though she was wooden and unyielding in his arms. But he persevered, and they stood silently. After a minute she deflated, softening as her arms snaked around his chest.

Then she began to sob, silent tears superseded by great gasping cries that echoed in his chest. He let her cry and held her tighter, a flashback overtaking him. He was thirteen, at a restaurant with his parents. His father was trying to make him calculate the tip, shoving the bill in his face, and his mother was pretending not to notice the confrontation.

The last time he’d cried.

Jesus, he’d like to get his hands on Cassie’s mother. He regretted now that he’d let her walk away without at least giving her an earful. Cassie’s hair fell over her face as she pressed her cheek against his chest. After a minute the weeping became less intense. Jack kicked off his boots and stooped, tapping her calf to prompt her to lift her leg. After he’d dispensed with their footwear, he led the now merely sniffling Cassie to the bed. Damn, this bed was awkward, wedged as it was into its alcove. He climbed over the foot, pulling her along with him, lying down and spooning her against his chest.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.

“Shh. Just rest for a while.”

“You should go. I’m not going to be very good company tonight so you should just—”

“You’re freezing.” He didn’t think it was strictly true. She was still quivering, but more likely it was the aftermath of the confrontation. He worked the duvet out from under them and covered them with it. “Just lie here for a minute and close your eyes and get warm.”

He expected her to argue but instead she sighed a deep, shaky exhale. So he wrapped his arms around her, notched his chin over her head, and took his own deep breath. As she softened and burrowed back against him, he could feel the tension draining from his muscles, too.

It wasn’t five minutes before deep, rhythmic breathing told him she’d fallen asleep. He closed his eyes then, breathed in her spicy vanilla scent, and let himself go.

…

It wasn’t like in romance novels, where you wake up and for a moment have no idea where you are. Maybe you even make out with your bedmate in some kind of mysterious half-asleep zombie state before you realize you’re actually in bed with someone you shouldn’t be. Nope, when Cassie woke up she remembered precisely what had happened. And, more to the point, she knew exactly whose arm was slung over her, whose solid chest her cheek rested against.

Well, this is embarrassing. After her big speech about how this was going to be casual, she’d put him in a situation where he—Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships—felt forced to stay the night. Without even opening her eyes, she could picture him, choppy hair all disheveled, a day’s worth of beard growth. Because she’d never closed the curtains, the west-facing room was flooded with enough sunlight to suggest a clear and well-advanced Monday morning. She shifted a little bit, trying to ease a crick in her neck without waking him up. His arms came to life and tightened around her, immobilizing her against his chest.

“Good morning.” Yikes, his voice was sexy first thing in the morning, all low and gravelly.

“Good morning,” she echoed, and he loosened his hold enough for her to tilt her head up to see his face. Yep—disheveled and wickedly hot. The sun glinted off his fair whiskers, making them look almost golden.