Ride Dirty (Raven Riders 3.50)

Nodding, she turned to go upstairs, but then she turned back. Maybe because he was here for her. Maybe because it was Christmas Eve. Maybe because something about this man spoke to something inside Emma. And she said, “What if I want to take care of you?”

That pale gaze cut up to her. Narrowed. Flashed hot. “Night, Emma,” he said.

She heard the command behind it, so she turned and padded up the steps, Chewy at her side.

But three hours later, she remained wide awake. The snow storm sent wind battering ominously against the windows. Every once in a while, something banged somewhere outside, sending her heart into a desperate sprint. The old house creaked and groaned, and her brain was convinced that every noise was her attacker closing in on her.

Not even Chewy’s calm slumber was enough to convince her there was nothing to worry about.

“Screw it,” Emma said, suddenly sitting up in bed. She grabbed a pillow and the weighted fleece blanket off her footboard. “Come on, Chewchew.” She scooped him up so his hopping strides down the steps wouldn’t disturb Caine. “We gotta be quiet, okay?”

Out into the hall. Down the steps. Into the living room, still illuminated by the warm rainbow of lights on the tree.

“What’s wrong?” Caine asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she said. Even though his company made her feel better. A lot better. “I couldn’t sleep.” She put Chewy down and arranged her pillow and blanket, then she stretched out on her back.

“You’re not serious right now, right?” he said from right above her.

She looked up to find him peering over the edge of the couch. “What?”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch while you’re on the floor.”

“I’ve slept here many times. I don’t mind.”

He sighed. “Emma.”

“Don’t be difficult, Caine.” She yawned.

He chuffed out a little laugh, and it made her smile. Especially when he leaned over the couch again. “No one besides my brothers has ever given me as much shit as you do.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asked, even though his tone had mostly sounded amused, if not a little exasperated.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said.

She laughed. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Caine. You’re not that scary. And I get the impression that you need someone to give you a little shit every now and again,” she teased.

He turned so that he lay on his stomach, half his shoulder hanging off the couch. One hand came down and stroked a path through the length of her hair. “I don’t want to scare you at all, Emma.”

Aw, God, the sincerity in his voice reached inside her chest and took root there. “You make me feel safe,” she said.

“I…” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “I can’t lay up here while you’re down there,” he said again.

“Then…then come down. If you want.” Her heart thundered in her chest, because she really wanted. Not just because his proximity made her feel safer, but because she’d been craving closeness with him ever since he’d walked out of her kitchen that night. Closeness of any kind. Of every kind.

For a moment, he didn’t react at all, and then he pushed himself up, stepped over her, and stretched out on the blanket an arm’s reach away. Emma worked hard to act nonchalant and keep her utter exhilaration off her face. A feat that was easier when Chewy lumbered out of his dog bed to sniff Caine—his socks, his threadbare jeans, the old white undershirt. Caine laughed—he actually laughed—when Chewy got to his face and sniffed, then licked at the thin growth of scruff that covered his jaw.

“The floor is his territory,” Emma said, grinning as she watched Caine tolerate her best friend. “This is the official welcome.”

“That right?” Caine asked, petting Chewy’s back once, twice. Gingerly, like he wasn’t sure if he might hurt him.

Emma nodded against her pillow, her heart doing a little flip-flop in her chest. “Consider yourself officially adopted as one of Chewy’s human staff members. He will now expect you to feed him, fill his water dish, give him T-R-E-A-Ts, take him for walks, and do other tasks as assigned by the management.”

“T-R-E-A-Ts?” Caine repeated, amusement plain in his tone.

“I’m too comfortable to get up to get him one, but if I say the word, he’ll bug me until I do. Thus, the highly secret code of spelling the word instead.”

Chewy made his way back to his dog bed and laid down with a huff and a long groan.

“Same, Chewy,” Caine said.

As Emma watched the interaction, observing Caine’s gentle kindness toward the most important creature in her life, those roots in her chest began to grow.

“I was scared,” she whispered. “Upstairs.”

Caine came closer. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She rolled onto her side, coming closer, too. “You’re here, Caine. That counts for a lot. No, that counts for everything. You have no reason to be sorry.”