Fight For Her (More Than A Cowboy 1)

GRAY

Seeing Emory cry was like having a knife shoved into my gut and twisted, jagged and raw and excruciating. While I knew she wasn’t injured—thank God—her adrenaline had finally bled away, leaving the stark reality of the night exposed. I was glad to see her cry, to know she was working through the feelings, to let them out.

I’d been such a shit leaving her alone. It’s what I thought she would want—peace and quiet and no worries that I had underhanded desires for getting her in my bed. Seeing her so…forlorn and lost, I’d tried. I really tried to leave her be, but I didn’t have the strength or the willpower to do so. I needed her with a ferocity that scared me, but I didn’t fucking care about my own fears. I had to ease Emory’s. When she was happy, I was happy. When she was scared, I was fucking scared.

While I thought she might not need m

e, I needed to hold her, to know deep down that she was safe and whole. I burst back into the guest room to ask her if I could stay with her, to hold her so I could sleep, but her tears, fuck, her tears. I carried her to my bed where we could fit more comfortably, where, hell, I’d never taken a woman before. I wanted her there, in my bed, because she belonged there. She belonged with me and if the first time I shared it with her was with her sobbing and me holding her and stroking her hair instead of having wild, hot sex, then that’s what we’d do. And when she fell into an exhausted sleep with her head on my chest, it wasn’t from working her body to orgasm over and over. Carefully, I settled her onto a pillow, stood, stripped down to my boxers and slid in behind her, gently pulling her into my chest with her head tucked beneath my chin.

This was the first time I had her in my arms like this, the first time I felt the lush swell of her ass, the curve of her hip, the soft cushion of the underside of her breasts against the forearm I slung over her waist. She fit against me perfectly. The idea of having a woman in my bed before had been abhorrent; never once had I even considered someone sharing it. I’d slept with women in hotel rooms and even their own beds, but never here. Being famous made my apartment my space. My sanctuary. There was no plan, no thought to having Emory here with me. It was just right. It was exactly where she was supposed to be. But did I deserve her here?

I stared into the darkness and thought about what the hell was going on. My dad knew about Emory, knew she meant something to me. I knew that because of his fucking phone calls, but I knew now he had Emory’s phone number. I’d heard her cell beep from her bag and I’d pulled it out, worried she might miss a call from her son. The number that had come up as a text had my body tensing and my fists clenching. Somehow Dad, the fucker, had sent her a text.

Heard your son’s a midshipman. You raised a son your way, I raised one my way.

It wasn’t overtly threatening to make the police take notice, but he had to know she’d show it to me and piss me off. It had worked, but I had to calm my rage and think. Just because he was a total asshole, did that mean he’d break into Emory's house? Hell, no. He’d send someone to do it for him. But would he resort to harming her or just scaring the shit out of her? Either way, it was fucked up. She was my Achilles’ heel and he knew it. He was using her to get at me and it was working.

I’d called Reed while she was in the shower to get an update, told him about the text. He had a guy already replace Emory’s door and would deliver the keys for the new deadbolt to the gym in the morning. Emory’s house was locked up once again, but for how long? Would the guy try again? If it was my dad that had arranged the break-in, what would he do next? He wouldn’t try the same thing again, but that didn’t mean Emory was safe. Until this fucking mess was cleared up, she was staying with me.

That’s what I'd been telling Reed when she came out of the bathroom, all flushed pink, clean and in my clothes. The sight of her in my T-shirt and boxers was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen. It wasn’t the most alluring of outfits, no lace or satin or frills, but Emory didn’t need lingerie to make her sexy. It didn’t take much to make me hot for her, she just had to be in the room. Hell, I got hard just thinking about her or getting a whiff of tropical shampoo.

If it was my dad, then I’d brought my troubles to Emory, put her in danger. She’d climbed out her window and down a fucking emergency ladder to get away. Jesus, the idea of that made me sick. What would have happened if her son hadn’t been a Boy Scout? What if…there was a never-ending line of what-if’s. The biggest one was, what if I’d never met her? If we hadn’t met at the engagement party last weekend, it was possible she wouldn’t be in danger. The fucking kicker was, she wanted to be in my arms, and yet it appeared to be all my fault.

I should let her go, should forget I ever met her, in order to protect her. To protect her from…me. But when she stirred in my arms, whimpering in her sleep, I knew I couldn’t do it. She began to thrash and fight against my arm and I realized she was having a nightmare.

I turned her so she lay on her back, my arm stroking over her belly. My T-shirt had bunched up and my thumb brushed over the smooth skin just above the rolled up waistband of my boxers.

“Emory, shh.”

“No!” she cried, her eyes closed, a V formed at her brow.

“Emory!” I said, my voice loud enough to hopefully penetrate her sleep. “Come on, baby, wake up. You’re safe. Shh.”

Her eyes flew open and she looked up at the ceiling, the dream still clinging to her. I continued to circle my hand, to show her my touch was gentle and safe as I loomed over her. Her eyes eventually focused on my face and I knew then she was awake.

“Gray?” She swallowed. “God, I had a nightmare.”

“No one’s going to get you here. You’re safe with me.”

Her tense muscles relaxed, even with her dark eyes laced with sleep and worry. “Will you…will you just hold me?”

Brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, I nodded. I lay back on the bed and held out my hand. “Come here,” I murmured.

She took it and I helped her turn so she fit snugly up against my side, my shoulder her pillow and her top leg tangled with mine. Her hand rested on my chest…my bare chest and the feel of it was…incredible. Reaching down, I tugged the blankets up.

Her body stilled, her breathing evened and I thought she’d fallen back asleep.

“Can I…can I ask you a question?” Her voice was soft, almost tentative.

“Mmm?” My eyes were closed, just reveling in the feel of her.

“Is it always like this? I mean, this between us, it’s happening so fast.” Her finger swirled idly over my chest. She must have realized what she was doing because she clasped her hand into a fist, as if she was unsure of whether she had liberty to do so. I put my hand on top of hers, smoothed out her fingers.

“It’s never been like this, baby.”

She sighed and I felt her breasts pressing into my side. “It’s nothing like what they say.”

“What?” I prodded.