Rafe (Inked Brotherhood 5)

“See? I know you’re a good guy,” I whisper, my voice catching on emotion and sudden, ice-cold fear. The room starts to spin in lazy circles. “Crap, a stalker? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Oh dear God. I was afraid Carson would send someone after me, but it’s one thing to fear the idea of a monster and another to be told it’s real.

“Meg.” He’s back in my space, his eyes concerned. “Are you okay?”

My heart is beating a tattoo against my ribs, and there’s a dull roar in my ears. “Sure.” Only problem is I can’t seem to feel my feet. I feel cold.

How can I be okay? I have a stalker, as I feared all along. Someone following my every move, walking behind me on the street, noting the people I talk to, their faces, maybe even their addresses. Monitoring me. Waiting for the right moment to grab me and hurt me.

Invading my private life, my new life where I thought I was free and safe.

“Damn, girl, come here.” He reaches for me, but I back away.

Not sure I can stand to be touched right now. I crash into the coffee table and turn blindly to my left. I need a moment.

I feel like I can’t breathe right. Something’s lodged in my throat, cutting off my air. I stop in the middle of the room, face the apartment door.

Why? How could Carson find me here? Where would he get my address? Only Mom knows it, and she’d never tell him.

Would she?

“Meg.” Rafe is two steps behind me, and I spin around. “Don’t run.”

His eyes are wide, his mouth tight. He looks worried for me, and that alone makes me stand still.

Was I going to run? Wouldn’t it be stupid, after finding out I have a stalker? And yet I’m in such a daze, I might. My mind’s so frozen with panic, I can’t think straight.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, and when he closes the distance between us, I let him. He draws me to him, wrapping himself around me like a warm blanket. My face is pressed to his chest, to his cotton T-shirt, where his masculine musk is stronger. It makes me tingle all over. It grounds me.

Now he’s the one walking backward, taking me with him until we reach the sofa, and he sits down, pulling me onto his lap. He keeps me close, cradling me as I struggle to draw breath.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but I’m grateful he doesn’t release me from his hold, because I feel as if I might shatter into a thousand pieces.

He hauls me even closer, so that my cheek rests on his padded pec, and I listen to his heartbeat. Steady. Strong.

And he holds me close as I come apart.

***

Some time has passed. I can feel it in the cramping of my muscles where I’m curled up tight on his lap, in his embrace. My eyes are dry now, and I’m not so cold anymore. His arms are warm and solid around me.

“Meg?” His hold tightens fractionally. “How are you?”

“Better,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He rocks me a little, and somehow it makes me smile.

I clear my throat. “So that was why you kept coming to the coffee shop.”

He nods, his chin dipping against the top of my head. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just wanted to be around you, check on you.”

“Thank you.” A spot of warmth blooms inside my chest at the thought of him sitting there, day after day, making sure I was okay, while I avoided him. I feel so stupid for doing it now. “Sorry I didn’t serve your table.”

Another rumble winds its way up his chest. Laughter, I realize. “You did that on purpose?”

I shrug. “You told me not to be near you.”

“Right.” He laughs again silently, his body shaking underneath me.