Chapter Ten

Cliff

That hug hit me harder than her kick to my sack. She’s grateful. And her breasts had crushed so incredibly to my chest it was hard to keep my hands to myself.

Being near her is going to be torture. I know it. It was fucking stupid to agree to teach her to defend herself. Clearly she learns by doing, by feeling and experiencing. Which means we’re going to be close, body to body, much too often for comfort.

I head back to bed and stare up at the ceiling. She’s not crying anymore. Which means I succeeded in what I’d set out to do—take her mind off it, wake her up, remind her to fight.

My mother suffered crippling depression, and it eventually took her. I worry this girl might slip into her own personal hell like my mother did. All the stress and pain can make anyone make rash decisions, even if they’re not suffering an actual chemical imbalance.

And while my mother was an example of all that is kind and patient in this world, she’s gone. All who loved her are now deprived of her light. And when she went, Dad wasn’t far behind. Because the love they had was just that tight a bond; his broken heart dragged him down.

But I inherited her patience. And now I’ll use it to keep Addie on track to mending.

I slip into a light sleep, but yesterday’s nightmares don’t visit me tonight.

***

I wake and get out of bed quickly. It’s strange to have a visitor. I can feel her on the other side of the wall. She’s awake, trying to be quiet, still in bed, I think.

But her breathing seems loud, like she’s biting her lip on a whimper. Shit. Maybe she’s hurt.

I’m on my feet in an instant and heading for her door. I push it open and am stunned. She’s naked, legs butterflied on the bed, her fingers on her pink pussy.

Fuck.

I look away, but not before I meet her gaze. She’s startled, but I recognize the heat there.

“Sorry,” I grind the word out. It feels foreign; I don’t say it often. I am sorry, though, that I invaded her personal space and embarrassed her.

“It’s okay,” she says, sounding breathless.

I glance at her again. She’s got the sheet pulled up to her chin, and she’s sitting upright now. “Are you hungry?” I ask, and she nods, refusing to meet my gaze.

I take the hint and back the hell out of her room and close the door. My fist balls up at my side, and I want to put it through the wall. This woman is going to fucking wreck me. All the steely control I have is barely enough to keep my cock from leaping to attention. The need to bury myself in a warm, willing woman is unbearable, and I grit my teeth.

Once I’ve got control of myself, I head to the kitchen to cook breakfast. I’ve got leftover eggs and the works, but I’ll have to go shopping today.

She comes out and curls herself up in a chair at the table in silence. After a moment, she asks if she can help, and I shake my head, painfully aware of her. My body is tugging at me, pulling me closer to her, but I fight against the current.

Breaking the eggs, I whip them up with a whisk and set it aside until the pan warms. I move on to chopping up the various other things I’ve got and throw them in the pan to cook up a bit.

With the smell of food on the air, I realize I need to tell her I’m leaving. It’s an odd feeling, having to report to her. But she needs to be on guard. She needs to know she can’t answer the door. That she needs the gun within reach. Just in case.

“I have to go shopping,” I say, and she perks up.

“I’ll go with you,” she says, and I shake my head.

“Better for you to stay out of sight,” I say, and I feel her optimism leaking out of her like air from a balloon with a pinhole leak. She has to know it’s not smart for her to be seen. Even with her hair dyed and much shorter, she’s still got a unique face.

She stands up and leaves the room.

I hold back a sigh. Maybe she’s mad at me now. Good. It’ll help keep her at arm’s length. I add the eggs to the mess in the pan and let them cook. Lost in my mind, I cook on autopilot.

When the eggs are done, I melt some swiss cheese over them and fold them into an omelet. Cutting the thing in half, I throw toast in the toaster and get out the butter.

Once everything is finished, I plate it all up and set the table. Satisfied with breakfast, I walk back to her room. Lifting my hand to knock, I talk through the door. I’m not about to make the mistake I made this morning. “Breakfast.”

She opens the door, and I’m stunned. The girl who went in is not the girl I’m looking at now. This girl has a catlike face, not even a hint of freckles, and rounded features as if she’s somehow erased and filled out the sharp curves in her face. It’s a stunning change.

“Do I still look like me?” she asks, her lips tomato red and daring. Fuck. They’d look fucking amazing wrapped around the base of my cock.

A growl leaves me, but it’s not words. Just a sharp, broken sound that’s pure desire and anger.

If I don’t walk away now, I won’t. Not because she looks better this way—she doesn’t; I prefer her natural beauty to this painted façade—but because the thought about her lips derailed my control.

And that’s dangerous for both of us.