Page 79 of Into These Eyes
Finally, he says, “Benny and I came to an arrangement. If that arrangement suits you, too … I’d like to be here for you.”
His deep, gentle voice engulfs me like an embrace.
My throat tightens painfully, forcing me to stare at my bare feet as I take a step back, silently inviting him inside. After wiping his shoes on the mat, his damp sneakers squeak on the floorboards as he steps past me. I close the door and turn the key in the deadbolt.
But I don’t release it, don’t turn around. I can’t.
No matter how fast I blink, tears slide down my cheeks.
He’s here. I’m safe.
So why am I losing all control? What is it about him that makes me feel so thoroughly secure and protected that I canunravel? I’m supposed to be the one who’s strong, who holds it together for everyone so they don’t have to.
When I try to inhale, my breath catches in my throat, sending a shudder through my body.
A dull thump comes from behind me, then he’s at my back and it’s like the beach all over again. He’s not touching me, but I feel him everywhere.
Without a word, he covers my fist, gently pulls it away from the key, and turns me around. Through blurry eyes swimming with tears, I stare at his chest, unable to meet his gaze. If I do, I’ll turn into a blubbering mess. And I’m sure he’s had enough of that by now.
“Jamie …” he murmurs, the tenderness and concern in his voice everything I know I’ll find in his eyes.
Lurching forward, I wrap my arms around his waist, bury my face in his chest and turn into that weeping mess anyway. As he pulls me in closer, my fists bunch so tightly in his wet t-shirt, water trickles between my fingers. Slipping one large hand beneath my hair, he finds the nape of my neck.
Letting his gentle caress calm me, I tell myself not to feel bad about seeking solace in his arms. The first time I burst into tears, he came to me. The second time, he needed comforting. I might not know too much about men, but this one clearly doesn’t shy away from a much-needed embrace. After being deprived for so long, why wouldn’t he take advantage every time the opportunity presents itself?
Focusing on the warmth of his body seeping into mine, I gradually realise my sobs have faded away. Then I zone in on his thumb doing that calming rotation he does so well. Only this time, that gentle pad isn’t situated against the nape of my neck. This time, it’s performing lazy circles behind my earlobe.
God, it feels amazing. And incredibly intimate. Apart from having never been held by anyone the way he holds me, no one’s ever touched me the way he does.Is.
As warmth pools between my legs, my heart starts jackhammering.
I’m not sure if he feels it, but he murmurs, “You okay?”
I nod against the hard pec beneath my cheek, and find I’m either unable or unwilling to let him go yet.
“Contrary to recent evidence, I swear I’m not a crier.”
A low rumble vibrates through his chest. “Jamie, crying and laughing are the rawest, most honest reactions we have. They’re what makes us human.”
His hold on me tightens and, ever so slightly, I’m pressed a little bit firmer against him. Through his wet clothes, all I feel is warmth. I want to look up at him, but I definitely don’t want him to see my puffy eyes and red nose. Not again.
“The amount of stress you’re under,” he continues, “well, if you didn’t release it every now and then, I’d be worried. It’s either that or go crazy. And I can’t have you going insane. I need you.”
He stiffens slightly, then quickly clears his throat, as if realising how those words might be interpreted. But his hold on me doesn’t change.
“I’m getting you wet,” he says, his breath tickling the fine hairs at my hairline, telling me his lips are so close they’re almost touching me. That, coupled with what he just said, sends heat straight up my neck. Even though I know he means nothing more than the fact that his clothes are soaking into mine, he’s not wrong on the other front. Keeping my burning face lowered, I pull away.
The moment I release him, he leans in so close I freeze, my breath catching in my throat, my head spinning. But all he does is remove the key from the door and press it into my palm.
“Never leave a key in the deadbolt. Someone puts a fist through that glass panel, they can let themselves right in,” he explains.
Unable to look at him, I nod like a fool. “Right. Of course. I mean, I should’ve thought of that.”
“I wish you didn’t have to.”
My gaze rises until I’m staring into those intense blue eyes. And I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake inviting him into my home. Because while I attempt to change his life, I think he might change mine too.
“I should find someone else to take up my fight,” he says, still holding my gaze, “If that threat is about me, then—”
