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“I see.” Lydia’s tone could curdle cream and leave butter rock solid. “Well, far be it from me to keep you from your… plans.”

“Thanks for dinner,” I say. “It was delicious, as always.”

“My pleasure.” She inclines her head, eyes scrutinizing Naomi. “You’re always welcome here, Brandon.”

Naomi’s nails dig into my skin. Fuck this. I thought about saying our goodbyes to the others, but not when the woman who puts her trust in me wilts away.

“Goodnight, Lydia.” I don’t wait for a response, grab our jackets, and drag Naomi out of this awful house.

She sags against me as soon as the door closes behind us, her whole body trembling, not from pleasure or the cold.

Fear.

I look down at her, taking in the slightly smudged mascara and the pale cast to her skin. She looks exhausted, worn thin. And fuck, if that doesn’t make me want to wrap her up and shield her from the world, but that would make her run for the hills.

I squeeze her hand, tugging her towards my car. “I’ll take you home.”

She nods, following me. But there’s a hesitance to her steps, a reluctance. Like she doesn’t want to leave, or maybe she doesn’t want to leave me? With me?

The thought makes something twist in my chest, sharp and aching. I push it down, focusing on the feel of her hand in mine, the warmth of her skin.

I’ll take what I can get.

She’s already too quiet, not telling me off or insulting me. The kind of quiet that makes my skin itch.

“Your place or mine?” I open the door for her, watching her face for… something. Any hint of what’s going on behind those beautiful eyes.

“What about my car?”

“We’ll get it tomorrow.”

She doesn’t move. “I should go home.”

“Should.” I grip the handle hard. “Not want to.”

“Brandon.”

“My place then. Watch me fail at cooking something.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “You don’t cook anymore.”

“Maybe it’s time I start again.” I shrug. “Unless you’re scared I’ll poison you.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. “Your ego wouldn’t survive serving bad food.”

“That a yes?”

She looks down at our joined hands, thumb tracing circles on my skin. The gesture’s so small, so unconscious. “One condition.”

“Name it.”

“No more touching.” Her voice wavers. “What happened in the bathroom… it can’t happen again.”

It will. She loves giving up control, and what happened in the bathroom is proof of that. She felt something. I just have to make her admit it.

“Whatever you want, cupcake.” I will have her begging for me in no time. “Your rules, remember?”

“My rules.”

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