Bent over with his elbows propped on his knees and his hands steepled under his chin, Liam stares at my bedroom carpet in intense concentration.
When it becomes apparent he’s not going to talk first, I say, “How’d you get back in without the key?”
“I didn’t lock the door behind me.”
“Why not?”
He exhales heavily, as if he was afraid I’d ask that question. He closes his eyes and drops his voice. “I knew I’d want to come back in.”
This is so far beyond my realm of experience with men, I don’t know how to proceed. I stand there staring at him for a moment, my heartbeat going haywire, my wet hair dripping down my back.
Then I say softly, “You can stay if you want, but, um…I’m not in any shape to…uh…”
“For fuck’s sake, lass,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m a lot of bad things, but a man who takes advantage of an injured woman isn’t one of them.”
“I know you’re not.”
He lifts his head and gazes at me, his brows drawn together, thunderclouds gathering over his head. “You can’t know that.”
“But I do.”
My confidence aggravates him. He stands, towering over me, and sends me a glare that would make any reasonable person tremble. But apparently I’m not reasonable, because he doesn’t scare me one bit.
I lift my chin and meet his glare. “You’re not a danger to me. Nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.”
He stalks closer, eyes blazing. “You watched me kill three men.”
“I also watched you try not to talk to me for almost a full year because you thought you wouldn’t be good for me.”
“I’m not good for you.”
“So you’ve said. Wine and cheeseburgers aren’t good for me either, but they’re literally two of my favorite things. Also, that argument would hold more weight if you hadn’t saved my life. Saving a person’s life is kind of the default definition of something that’s good for them. Being alive is good for me. Hence, you are good for me. If you want to argue that you weren’t good for those three guys in the alley, well, you’ve got me there.”
Nostrils flaring, he mutters an oath.
“You can curse all you want, wolfie. It does nothing to change the fact that I trust you.”
He’s appalled by that. His eyes widen and his lips part in shock. “You trust me,” he repeats faintly.
“Don’t look so horrified. Maybe I’m a good judge of character.”
“Or maybe that kick you took knocked something loose in your head.”
“Okay. You win. I’m delusional and you’re really a monster. Leave.”
He doesn’t move. He’s rooted to the spot as if he grew there, gazing at me in outraged disbelief. And a healthy dose of anger, too.
Anger at himself, not me.
We both know he wants to leave, but he’s going to do no such thing.
I try not to sound too smug about it. “Good. Now that we’ve established you’re staying, I’m going to change into my PJs and get into bed.”
His burning gaze slashes to my bed. Miraculously, it doesn’t burst into flames.
I don’t wait for him to issue any more aggravating pronouncements on the dire state of my brain before nabbing my yoga pants, undies, and a sleep shirt from my dresser drawers. Then I go back into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it as soon as it closes behind me. I stand there breathing until my knees have stopped knocking and some semblance of order has returned to the chaos of my mind.
I dress quickly and blow-dry my hair, leaving it damp because I’m too impatient to finish the job.
Then, as if this is totally normal and I always have insanely hot, mysterious, dangerous men in black Armani suits wrestling with their consciences over for sleepovers, I calmly exit the bathroom and crawl into bed.
I curl up on my side, pull the covers up to my chin, and gaze up at Liam.
He stands in the same spot I left him, staring down at me like he can’t for the life of him understand what’s happening.
I whisper, “Sing me to sleep, wolfie. Sing me an Irish lullaby.”
He covers his eyes with a hand and groans softly.
“If it will help, I’ll pretend to be really scared of you if you’re still here when I wake up. I’ll scream and everything.”
He drops his hand to his side and sighs. It’s heavy and resigned, and I know that I’ve won.
If anyone is in danger here, it’s definitely him.
He lowers his bulk to the edge of the mattress and sits there gingerly. I scooch aside to give him more room. I bunch up the pillow under my head and watch him struggle with himself for several silent moments, cracking his knuckles and grinding his back molars as he glares at the carpet, until I tug on his suit sleeve.
He turns his head and looks at me from under lowered lashes, his jaw set, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. I want to reach out and stroke it aside but manage to control myself.
Keeping my voice as soft as before, I say, “You don’t really have to sing to me. You don’t have to talk at all, if you don’t want to. We can just be.”
Looking frustrated, he says, “Are you always like this?”
I furrow my brow. “Like what?”
He thinks for a moment. “Idiotically fearless.”
“I’m not fearless. I’m afraid of lots of things. Just not you.”
“That’s why you’re an idiot.”
I smile at him, not insulted even a little bit. “Excuse me, but I’m very intelligent.”
“Intelligent people don’t invite total strangers into their bedrooms in the middle of the night after being attacked in a dark alley.”
“They do if that total stranger wasn’t a total stranger but was the one who saved them from said attack. And not to splice hairs, but I didn’t invite you. You were already here when I came out of the bathroom.”
He glowers at my logic. “At the very least, it’s reckless.”
“Look. You charmed my scary roommate who hates mostly everyone into giving you a key. You got my medication for me. You brought me clean clothes to the hospital. You gave me a book about life, death, and love. You carried expensive French water into my refrigerator, where it probably looked around in horror and burst into tears. These are not things a bad guy would do. You’re not going to convince me otherwise. Let’s move on, please.”
He studies me intently for a moment, then turns his attention back to the carpet. He thinks for a while. He drops his head, passes a big paw over his dark hair, squeezes the back of his neck, and sighs heavily.
Then he says in a low, rough voice, “Turn over onto your other side.”
Scorching hot and violent, adrenaline explodes into my bloodstream. Heart pounding, I roll over and stare wide-eyed at the wall.
The mattress moves as Liam stands. I hear rustling and the slither of fabric, then the mattress dips with his weight.
Then he stretches out behind me and tucks his legs up under mine.
Very gently, he slides his left arm under my head until his biceps is supporting my neck and my cheek is resting on the pillow. I’m frozen except for my heart, which beats frantically.
How much of his clothing did he remove? Is he naked right now? Is the wolf lying totally naked right next to me? No—he’s still got his shirt on. His arm under my neck is covered by a sleeve. But maybe he took off his slacks? Definitely his jacket. What about his tie? Shoes? Belt?