Page 26 of Hard Hitter
“Of course. Nicolas Cage has the coolest money clip. A golden dragon head. Totally badass.” He gave her a more relaxed smile than she’d ever gotten from him, and it made him look almost boyish. Andhot. Was she crazy, or did his gaze linger a little longer than necessary, too?
None of that, she chided herself. It wasn’t polite to perv on her rescuer, even if he was more attractive by a factor of ten than any of the Hollywood actors on the screen.
And anyway, she was feeling drowsy again. It had been a shit day of epic proportions. Her asshole ex had proven himself to be even more dangerous than she’d expected. Buthere she sat, drinking whiskey with Patrick O’Doul, feeling perfectly safe.
Weird.
Vince might make trouble again. No—hewouldmake trouble again. But at least for tonight she wouldn’t have to face him. This sofa was like an island of calm in the chaotic sea of her life. And she really did appreciate it.
She grabbed one of the water bottles off the coffee table, opened it and drank half. After she set it down again, she began to feel sleepy.Drunkand sleepy. She closed her eyes to the sounds of an on-screen car chase and drifted off.
SEVEN
O’Doul watched the rest of the movie, occasionally sneaking looks at Ari’s sleeping face. The anxiety she’d worn for the last couple of hours was gone now, and he’d been a part of that. Satisfaction settled like a warm blanket on his chest, and the sensation was completely unfamiliar.
He’d never had a sleeping woman on his couch before, and he let himself wonder for a moment what it would be like to have someone in his life.
He glanced around his apartment, wondering what she saw. It was a huge space for one person. He was always here alone. What would it be like to live with a woman like Ari? To put his key in the door and find her at home, making a drink or sitting on the sofa, waiting for him? It was almost impossible to imagine. He’d been a loner so long that the condition was probably permanent.
After the credits rolled, he shut the TV off. He got up to brush his teeth and turn out a few lights.
Ari didn’t stir or wake. He knew he could cover her with a blanket and let it go at that, but her head was angled onto the arm of the sofa in a way that didn’t look comfortable enough to last eight hours.
Okay, then. He’d just have to do a little better for her.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered, kneeling in front of her. “Time to hit the hay.” He patted her hand.
Nothing.
Welp, all right, then. He got up and slipped his hands underneath her back. When he lifted her slightly, a pair of sleepy arms came around to clutch his neck. “There you go,” he said encouragingly. He carried her over to the bed. Luckily he’d turned down a corner of it when he’d made it up for her. So it wasn’t too difficult to slide her into bed.
When her head hit the pillow, Ari rolled onto her side, toward the center of the bed, and let out a sleepy sigh.
Mission accomplished.
He walked around the big bed to turn off the lamp and remove the other pillow. He’d need it on the couch. But when he leaned over to reach for it, Ari mumbled something to him. He put a knee on the bed to try to hear her. “What’s that, sweetheart?”
One warm hand emerged from the covers and clasped his.
He slipped her smooth fingers between his rougher ones, his thumb tracing her wrist. “You’re going to be fine, you know that, right?”
Her hand closed a little tighter on his, and she sighed. Her eyes were still closed.
Unsure what he should do, O’Doul sat down on the side of the bed, just holding her hand. His body felt heavy and tired, but in a good way. As he sat there in the dark, the day’s strange events replayed themselves in his mind. He’d been in a scuffle tonight—the first one in years where he wasn’t wearing skates. And that wasn’t the only odd thing about the fight. It was also the only one in years he was certain had a real purpose to it.
Ari continued to hold his hand, and he let her. He knew he ought to get up and take his weary self over to the couch.
Although Ari had told him once that when two people touch, they touch with their whole soul. And her soul was clinging pretty hard to his right now, her long fingers clasping his hand as if her life depended on it.
Fuck it.
Still holding her hand, O’Doul stood up again and lifted the covers on his side of the bed. He slipped between the sheets and positioned himself carefully on his own side of the generously sized mattress. This would be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the sofa, anyway.
He closed his eyes, thinking that it should feel so strange to have Ari in his bed where no other woman had ever been. He’d always imagined he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he brought someone home—that an unfamiliar presence would disturb the sanctity of his private space.
It didn’t, though. The soft sound of her breathing only kept time with his own.
He drifted off to sleep without trouble. But when the low beep of his phone’s alarm chimed seven hours later, he was a little disoriented. An arm had been flung across his chest in the night, and a slender knee was propped onto his.
