There’s a woman in my bed for the first time in forever. A woman in my bed and I don’t know what the fuck to do with her. Rory is not fitting into any category I try to put her in. She could have turned her back on me and on Ryan and even knowing what she was facing… she tried to protect my son. She’s scared to stay and I can see that fear plain on her face. She’s not pretending just to fuck me over, because she has no idea who I am. She’s scared and yet she still stayed.

At least tonight.

I’m not sure why. Maybe because she felt safer at my house than at her own. I made her stay, giving her one of my T-shirts to sleep in and telling her to take my bed. After I drop Ryan off at school in the morning, I’ll take her into town to see what the Commonwealth Attorney has to say about getting a restraining order against this fucker. She’s agreed to at least do that. I hope like hell they give her good news. If they don’t, she’ll run. I know she will and I’m not even sure I blame her.

I do another walk through of the house, making sure all the doors and windows are secure. I save Ryan’s room for last. After making sure that his window is secure and making sure the alarm on the window is active, I turn to look at my son. It’s like a fist wraps around my heart. Until Ryan, the only thing I ever loved was my club. Ryan opened my heart bigger than I thought was humanly possible. My world is wrapped up in that little boy.

I go over to his bedside and let my hand sift through his hair, his curls sliding over my fingers.

Nothing better.

There’s nothing better than being his father. I’d die for this tiny little boy, in a heartbeat. Every day with him is a new adventure. Fury once told me he’d never have kids, that they were chains and he didn’t want anything to keep him from being free. Ryan isn’t a fucking chain. He’s the glue that keeps my world together.

I lean down and kiss the top of his head and then walk back into the hall. I stare at the door to my room. That’s the one room I haven’t checked over. I checked before she went in there and I know she’s fine, but I want in the room. Why I want in the room is what is bothering me the most. I have no reason wanting this woman, her life is as much of a mess as mine is, but the need to touch her, even claim her, is there.

And I’m not even sure why the pull toward her exists. I’m about to turn away just as I hear her cry out. My blood runs cold and I turn the knob and push through the door immediately.

The room is dark, but the light from the hall gives me just enough to see what I need to. Rory is alone. There’s no one here. Just Rory, but she’s sleeping and she’s in the middle of a bad dream… She’s twisting, the sheets on my bed tangling in her legs, her hair is strewn across my pillows. Sleeping, she’s nothing but honey-sweet flesh and a mass of auburn waves. At least until you get to her face. There’s where God’s handiwork is really seen. Lips, lush, plump and made to kiss, long eyelashes that feather and curl out naturally and those damn freckles. The same freckles I’ve been obsessing about. They barely dust across her nose but every time I see them—every damn time—I go hard.

Instantly.

That doesn’t change now. My dick is pushing against the gym shorts I’m wearing. They hang loose on me, which means I have a damn tent going. I feel like a fucking jerk, especially with the drama she had today—drama it’s clear that she’s suffered for a while. The last thing she needs is to wake with a man coming at her with a fucking hard on and balls loaded with cum he wants her to swallow down.

Christ.

I start to turn away when she cries again. I look and she’s moving in the bed again. It’s clear she’s asleep, but it’s also clear that the dream that has her in its clutches is not a good one. I reach out, partly to wake her and partly to let my fingers sift through those auburn curls.

“Help,” she whimpers and the pain in her voice hurts me. “King, help me,” she says and I frown.

I thought that she called her ex, Tony?

I shrug it off. Maybe King is a nickname? I’ll ask her more about things later—when she wants to talk about it. I understand all too well why you’d want to keep things locked away and not think or talk about them. I’m making it through every damn day like that.

All of the sudden Rory let’s out a scream and sits up straight. Her head turns frantically as she scans the room, fear etched so thick on her face it’s almost a living thing.

“It’s just a bad dream, Gorgeous,” I tell her sitting on the bed—hoping to hide the fact my dick is rock hard.

“Noah?” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”

“You were crying out in your sleep,” I tell her and I don’t even realize that my hand has reached out to touch her hair until it’s there, taking the weight of it from her neck, letting it cascade against my hand and memorizing the texture.

“Bad dream,” she mumbles, staring at my face.

No, that isn’t right. She’s staring at my lips. Her gaze has locked on them and it’s not moving. When I see her tongue dart out to lick her bottom one… I’m helpless to stop what happens next.

“Let me see if I can make it better,” I murmur just as my lips touch hers.

Damn.