I sigh, lifting my head, looking at her. “You don’t feel safe at the inn, do you?”
She almost flinches, averting her eyes. “Well…not anymore. I know Warren’s a big, tough guy just like you, but—”
“No buts. I wouldn’t feel safe either, if I were you,” I say—then make an impulsive decision. One I know I’m probably gonna regret before it’s even out of my mouth. “You’re staying here with me.”
She’d started looking away, but now her gaze flicks back, full deer in headlights. “Wh-what?”
“You saw this firestarter prick. You didn’t catch his face, but he doesn’t know you can’t identify him.” I sigh, shaking my head, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Look, I don’t want to go to the cops with this just yet. There’s been too many messes the last few months, all that Galentron crap and the big fire. Plus, our man, Langley, he’s not the best at keeping secrets, much less solving ’em. So, just in case I’m off my nut, I don’t want to cause a panic with folks on edge.”
Sighing, I can’t even quantify this feeling.
It’s irrational, and I’m trying to rationalize it in words, trying to make it make sense for her in a way that doesn’t just come out in this big flood coming out of my mouth. “This creep might also come looking for you, Peace. I’d rather have you where I can keep you safe.”
Yep, she’s still staring.
And I’m still standing here like a big dumbass.
Christ Almighty, I’m ruined around this girl.
Whatever happened between us on the radio the other night just made it worse.
Unplugged this whole frigging tangle of pent-up daggers in my guts. Now they’re spilling out in this jumble of words that don’t mean what they’re supposed to mean.
Let me protect you.
Let me take care of you, Peace, because I can’t stand it.
I can’t let anything happen to you.
That’s all I want to say. Instead, I’m just looking her up and down, wondering where that calm, put-together radio voice she loves so much ran off to.
She lowers her eyes, biting her lip, tucking her hair back in that sweet way she has. When she can go from brassy and bold to soft and uncertain in seconds, it’s the little things that tell me when she’s flustered, when she’s confused.
“I mean, all of my things are at my place, though, and…I have appointments.”
“I’m flexible. Unless something’s burning down, that is. I’ve been doing welding jobs long enough to set my own schedule.” I half-smile. “Don’t think your clients are gonna want to get their massage in the same room as a giant boa constrictor, but if they’re okay with in-home, then I’ll drive you there and back if you’re not feeling safe. And we’ll bring your stuff here. Hopefully it’ll be just crashing for a few days till we get this sorted out.”
Her brows knit. “Why do you think anyone would set fires? Why here?”
“In this crazy town, I don’t even know why anybody does anything no more.” I snort, crossing the room to settle down next to her on the sofa, keeping a safe distance so I won’t be tempted to touch her.
I just want to be close, to let her know she’s not alone.
Her face tilts, giving me this brutal look that tells me she sees the hero I’m not.
“Listen. Whatever this asshole’s deal is, it’s not your problem. Promise you, anyone playing arsonist doesn’t want you involved and doesn’t even know who you are. It’s just rotten luck that you saw him and he ran you off.”
“Or maybe good luck,” she whispers—and it’s her touching me now, leaning over to bump me with her shoulder. “You’ve got a description to go on, if you’re playing detective, Blake.”
“Not really my strong suit, but, well, when you get thrown into it over and over again, you learn a thing or two.” I grin, bumping her thigh with my knee. My cock wants more, but I’m thankful for the saving screech of the kettle, reining me in. “There’s the cocoa.”
I stand, wondering why I feel this tether tugging me back to her, something deep and hard.
Can’t think about it too much, though, and I ignore it firmly as I head to the kitchen. “Let’s get something warm in you. Then we’ll go grab your stuff before dark and get you settled in at the Chat-two Silverton.”
“Um.” She quirks an eyebrow. “Isn’t it pronounced chat-teau?”
I grin. “Languages never were my talent. Just ask Leo.”
* * *
It’s not much work getting Peace set up at my house.
No.
That’s a lie.
It’s a hell of a lot of work, but it’s work that needs to be done.
The guest room is full of boxes and boxes of Abby’s old things, sitting there gathering dust like it’s some kind of mausoleum.
I don’t know why I never got rid of ’em.