Chapter Twenty-six
Several hours later found Flynn pacing a culvert into his kitchen floor. Pink had slept the day away. Was she sick? She had to be hungry. He’d showered and eaten twice since he tucked her into the big bed, nearly breaking his jaw to keep from pressing his lips to her smooth, creamy body as he pulled the sheets over her nakedness.
He stopped his incessant pacing. Clasping his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, Flynn cursed. She had been through the wringer. Why should he be surprised she’d mentally checked out? Sleep was a great way of ignoring one’s reality. And Pink’s was pretty shitty at the moment. “No thanks to me,” he muttered, feeling like the guy who had kicked the kitten when he should have been the guy who picked it up, loved and protected it.
He could give himself some credit. He had picked her up and brought her here. To his house. Not home, because it was just a place he crashed. But here, she was out of harm’s way.
As for loving her? He didn’t know how to. Didn’t want to learn. He’d witnessed firsthand the backlash of that emotion. Many years ago, Flynn had made the conscious decision to lock his heart and swallow the key. He wasn’t willing to put himself out there. The minute a woman even looked like she was going to suggest they become more than what he wanted, he bolted. His heart, his rules. It worked for him. He had no regrets. Except with Pink.
His protection track record wasn’t that great, either. He couldn’t protect his mother from his father or his sister from that asshole she insisted on marrying. Under his watch, Pink had been two steps from being kidnapped. Now she was an emotional train wreck and he had been the one to derail her long before her father had this morning. He didn’t know how to undo what he had done without giving her hope. And that he couldn’t do. Not after last night.
Glancing at his watch, Flynn decided she had slept long enough.
“Pink,” he called from the hallway.
When she didn’t answer, Flynn nudged the door open with his foot and stopped at the threshold. She was still in bed, wrapped up tight in the sheets like a butterfly in a cocoon, sound asleep.
His heart made a weird thump against his rib cage. Setting the tray with the lunch he had made for her down on the dresser, Flynn moved around the side of the bed. Her long black lashes glistened with recent tears. She made a sound like a baby did after a hard cry. Somewhere between a sob and a sigh. His heart squeezed with emotion he could no longer deny.
She did something to him. Caused an ache so deep in him it kept him awake at night. How was that possible? He’d known her less than a week. It felt like he’d loved her a lifetime, though.
When she’d called him out this morning after telling him how she felt about him, he had never been more miserable. He should have been elated. Jumping for joy because damn it, he felt the same way. All those hours sitting outside of her house, he had nothing but time to think. About Pink and how much he wanted to be a part of her life. He had come to the decision that when this case was closed, he would pursue her until she couldn’t run from him anymore.
That had all changed last night, when he’d come around Pink’s side yard and saw the kitchen door open. He’d never experienced the paralyzing fear that he had at that moment. He panicked when his imagination ran wild with visions of what the intruder would do to her. He’d seen it before. Vicious, bloody crime scenes. He couldn’t bear thinking of what could have happened if he hadn’t gotten to her in time. Thank God he had.
That panicked fear, that loss of control, that brutal pain of possibly losing Pink still ate at him. If this was how it felt when she survived, how would it feel if she didn’t? How would he feel in thirty years if he lost her after she had become his everything? He didn’t want to find out.
It was that ache that fortified his determination not to get further involved with her. If he touched her, he’d cave. It killed him not being able to take her into his arms and comfort her when that prick of a sperm donor rolled up his window on her. Fucker knew who she was, too.
Flynn felt like a colossal dick when he realized he’d done the same thing to her as her father had. For different reasons, true. That didn’t make it right.
Grabbing the chair from the small desk in the corner, he sat down in it and let out a long sigh. He’d never felt so out of sorts or so unsure of himself. If he was half the man she needed, he’d fess up and step up. Fear paralyzed him.
Her soft breathless voice, roughened from crying, called out for him. He moved to her side, realizing she was still asleep. He brushed the pink tips of her bangs away from her face, marveling at the softness of her hair and skin. His body warmed as the desire to touch her more intimately took hold of him. Not ravage her, but hold her close to him, caress her. Kiss her. Protect her. Each one of those urges was new to him. He’d never felt any of them for a woman.
The only women who had mattered before Pink were his mother and sister, whom he’d always tried to shield from his father’s insensitivity. He’d protected them both as much as an adolescent and then a teenage boy could. In the end, his father’s flagrant philandering with fast women killed his mother and Genny took up with a lowlife gold digger who walked out on her and their two kids after he’d drained Genny dry and Dad refused to fund him any longer.
Pink was right. He was a coward. This little Wild Style had bigger balls than he did. He smiled. Couldn’t help it. She was something else.
Bending toward her, Flynn pressed his lips to hers, tasting the saltiness of her tears. She was warm and supple, her bubble gum scent faint.
Her eyelids fluttered open as a soft sigh of contentment slipped past her lips. His heart thudded painfully against his rib cage. Her sleepy eyes widened. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured against her lips. “I brought you lunch.”
Color pinkened her cheeks. Inwardly Flynn groaned. She was making it damn difficult not to drop to his knees and beg her for forgiveness. He moved back and stood up, retrieving the tray from the dresser. As he turned with it, he caught a glimpse of her breasts when she rearranged the sheet around her. When she caught him staring, she cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. Silently she wrapped it snugly around her chest as she sat up against the pillows.
He set the tray down on the nightstand. “I made you a grilled brie and tomato basil croissant.”
“Thank you,” was all she said as he handed her a napkin and the plate.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted to drink, so I brought you bottled water and a Gatorade.”
“Thank you,” she said as she bit into the sandwich. “Mmm,” she hummed, closing her eyes. “This is really good.” She chewed slowly, savoring it.
Flynn smiled. At least he got that right. She liked his cooking. And he liked cooking for her. He moved back to the chair and was silent as she made contented noises as she ate. When she was done, she took a long drink of Gatorade. The sheet had loosened. When she reached to place the bottle back to the tray, it slid along the voluptuous swells her breasts, her nipples managing to catch the edge.
Heat simmered in his veins and his dick thickened. Flynn cleared his throat when she didn’t pull up the sheet.
Raising her chin, she looked directly at him and said, “We need to talk, Flynn, and I need for you to hear me.”
“If it’s about you leaving here, we’re not going to discuss it.”
“Listen to me, please.”
He gave her a curt nod. He’d listen, but he wasn’t changing his mind.
“I cannot thank you enough for what you did last night,” she said quietly. Her eyes softened. He wanted to touch her cheek, run his fingers along the high curve and into her hair. Then kiss her so she wouldn’t say the words he didn’t want to hear. “You saved my life, Flynn. I can’t ever repay that. I appreciate your further concern and opening your home to me to keep me safe. It means the world to me. I wish there was some way I could repay you.”