The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(28)

She edged closer, stepping into the moonlight spilling from the window at the end of the hallway. He took in the purple smudges beneath her eyes and the way her hands shook despite her relatively calm voice. She’s terrified. Frank cursed himself for not realizing it before. He set the gun on a side table and held up his hands. “That came out wrong. I wasn’t going to shoot you. You were never in any danger.” She had enough shit to worry about without thinking he’d mistakenly put a round of buckshot into her chest.

Journey glanced at where he’d set the gun and then took another step closer. “You ran out of your bedroom door like you were about to face down an enemy.” A small smile pulled at the edges of her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “If I wasn’t ninety percent sure that it wasn’t directed at me, the look on your face would have made me pee my pants in fear.”

“I heard someone walking in the direction of your room and reacted.” He didn’t even stop to consider lying. Frank shook his head. Shouldn’t have handed her that piece of information.

Journey, true to form, seemed to chew on his statement. “Would you have shot if it was an intruder?”

“You already know the answer to that question.” In other circumstances, he would have hesitated. Frank was more than capable of handling himself in a fight, and it was easier to get the police on his side if he didn’t murder someone in his house. Handing potential ammunition to enemies wasn’t how he rolled—shooting an intruder would do exactly that.

But he’d also never had anyone under this roof but himself.

He could chalk up his over-the-top reaction to another person’s presence, but the truth lay in a different direction. Journey had every single protective urge he possessed standing at attention and clamoring for him to step between her and whatever danger arose.

To do whatever it took to ensure she walked away from this situation as unscathed as possible.

“Frank.”

He blinked, cursing himself for musing while they were in the middle of a conversation. “Yeah?”

“You’re naked.”

He bit back a response that could only be termed an invitation. Whatever Journey King needed, it wasn’t him adding to her stress by throwing sex into the mix. His losing control at the club was a onetime thing—it had to be. Frank didn’t like how easily she’d slid past his tried-and-true defenses and incited an inferno inside him.

One only she seemed to be able to quench.

“Give me two minutes.” He grabbed the shotgun from the side table and stalked into his room. After safely stashing it beneath the bed, he pulled on a pair of lounge pants and headed back into the hallway.

Journey stood exactly where he’d left her, a strange expression on her face. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

The darkness lent a certain intimacy to their low conversation that he didn’t know what to do with. Frank shifted closer. Mindful of her violent reaction last time he’d tried to comfort her, he kept his damn hands to himself. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to trace the shadows beneath her eyes with his thumbs, to do something to ease the pain she obviously carried deep inside her. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“That’s a quaint little saying.” She huffed out a laugh. “It doesn’t mean shit. I’m a mess and we both know it.” She lifted a shaking hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “No matter how good your plan is, I can’t guarantee I won’t fold at the most inopportune moment. It seems to be what I’m good at.”

“Stop.” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her hand away from her face. “Self-pity doesn’t look good on you, Duchess.”

“Is it self-pity if it’s the truth?” She spoke so softly, he wouldn’t have heard it anywhere else but in the silence of the space between them.

He tugged her wrist. “Come here.” It had to be lack of sleep, but he just wanted to hug her until all her broken pieces fused together again. Frank knew better than to think he could heal another person. He’d learned the hard way that trying only brought sorrow and pain.

She shook her head. “No, I can’t.” Journey jerked her hand out of his grasp, but didn’t retreat. She stared up at him, her hazel eyes too large on her face. “I want to. Fuck, Frank, even if it’s a lie, I want you to hold me right now. I just…I can’t.”

Frank weighed the sentence against his interactions up to this point. There was something there, something he was missing, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. If he had a brain in his head, he’d go back to bed and leave her to her midnight wanderings. So what if she’d be wasted and worthless tomorrow after a night spent among her demons? It wasn’t his fucking problem.

I made it my problem when I set the terms of this bargain.

Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.

“What do you need from me?”

For the first time since he reappeared in the hallway, she dropped her gaze. “Nothing you’re willing to give.”

Frustration raked at him. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing.” He could have followed it up with so many things, but he kept his damn mouth shut. Journey didn’t need him preaching at her about learning to accept help. She had accepted help, but he was the one shoehorning his way into other parts of her life. It wasn’t his job to take care of her if she wouldn’t take care of herself, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck.