As she measured out coffee, from the corner of her eye she saw Cole hesitate, then set the key chain on the table. Instead of sitting, he stood in the middle of the kitchen, feet planted just far enough apart to make him appear ready to spring.
Trying to ignore him, Erin added water and set the machine to brew, then leaned against the counter, facing him. She crossed her arms in a gesture of self-defense.
“Were you planning to wait all night for me to come out?”
“I wasn’t outside until I saw your bedroom light go on.”
“I don’t understand. You were watching?”
“I told you. I sleep light.”
“Cole, it’s nice that you worry, but this is something really personal. I can’t take anyone else with me.” Considering her turmoil, she was surprised at how pleasant and regretful she sounded.
“Why?” he asked again. Unless it was her imagination, he’d leaned forward slightly.
Her agitation rose under the pressure. Would he never let up? “I can’t tell you. Don’t keep asking.”
“Why?”
Tears burned her eyes.
“Is there anyone you’d take along?”
She glared at him. “No!”
The coffee machine beeped. She ignored it. Cole never looked away, his intensity making her want to shrink back.
“Tell me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like having to wonder. I don’t like seeing what your little trips do to you.”
“It’s not the trips,” she blurted.
“I didn’t think so.” He didn’t move, but seemed to…settle. Satisfied because he’d gotten part of the answer? “I’ll keep my mouth shut if you let me come. I just got out of prison, remember? You can’t be into anything that would shock me.”
“It’s not like that.” Erin fought to keep herself from rocking. She wasn’t sure she could stand this for another minute. She had to make him go away.
He leaned forward, his icy blue eyes drilling into hers. “Then what is it like?” he asked, implacable. “Why can’t I come?”
“Because I might kill you!” she yelled.
* * *
HE’D BEEN WRONG. She could shock him. She had.
And damn, Erin was clutching herself as if she’d fly apart if she let go. The sheen in her eyes had to be tears.
He closed the distance between them without conscious thought. “Erin.” He almost choked on her name. She kept staring at him, eyes brimming with both tears and despair. Gently, he gripped her shoulders and tugged her forward. “Erin.”
She didn’t fight his hold, even let herself lean toward him, but her body remained rigid. Tentative, he wrapped his arms around her and cradled the back of her head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I pushed too hard.” Whether he’d done the right thing or the wrong thing, he didn’t know.
Damp warmth on the front of his T-shirt alarmed him, but her body didn’t shake with sobs, and she didn’t make a sound. Holding her, he wondered if she even knew she was crying. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. God, I’m sorry.”
Except he wasn’t. He still needed an answer, even if he didn’t entirely understand what he was doing here. Ever since she’d taken him in, her unexplained disappearances at night had bothered him. They had something to do with the grief and pain she barely masked. And no, whatever was going on with her wasn’t his business—but she’d stepped up to help him. How could he do less?
He couldn’t resist the pleasure of having her in his arms, either. He rubbed his cheek against hair that was both silky and springy, and breathed in her scent. Of their own volition, or so it seemed, his hands stroked soothingly over her back. He could feel the fine tension in her and the delicacy of her vertebrae and shoulder blades.
When she didn’t move, he finally, reluctantly, steered her to the table and eased her down on a chair. However unwilling he was to release her, he did, but pulled up a second chair. He sat facing her, and their knees touched. Then he handed her a napkin from the holder on the table.
Head bent, she only clutched it for a minute, but finally let out a huge sigh that had her shoulders sagging. She mopped her face and blew her nose firmly before she lifted her head again.