Then they took their plates to the couch to watch TV together. His wife had always insisted they eat at the table, which was why he’d switched it up. The loss didn’t trouble him as much; he’d lost her long ago. But for Lexie, the grief was fresh, and he tried to spare her the reminders.
He spotted his daughter from half a block away. She’d just come out Melissa’s front door with their neighbor’s girls. Sunlight glinted off her light brown hair, finding the golden strands. Happiness swelled inside him. Because of her, he had purpose. He had a place he belonged.
The tinkling of the truck sounded closer now. His little girl turned. “Lexie, no!”
No, no, no, no-
“I’m coming, Daddy! I knew you’d get ice cream.” Expectations shaped by his curse and the distant tinkle of bells, she ran toward him, smiling. Straight into the path of an oncoming car.
This time, he strangled the scream. Cold sweat poured off him as he lay there, trembling. Reliving the accident. My fault. No matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise-no matter how much he wanted to lay all the blame on the people who’d changed him-he could not escape his own culpability. There would be no more sleep tonight. He should’ve known better, particularly with his emotions roused; nothing protected him better than detachment.
Still shaking, he slid from the bed and tugged on his boxers. Mia stirred, reaching a hand toward the warm spot where he’d been, but she didn’t awaken. Just as well-he wasn’t equipped to deal with her. He didn’t even think he could drive.
Work would calm him, keep the ghosts at bay, and he’d promised he’d assist in her search for the thief. He’d come a long way from that single father, barely making ends meet. He had new skills and resources now-and he’d give them all up if he could bring Lexie back.
He couldn’t.
So he sat down with Mia’s files and went through her notes. The sooner he got her out of Micor, the better. She played hell with his concentration and made him wish for impossible things. But he’d learned his lesson, and he wouldn’t repeat old mistakes.
Søren guessed her password on the third try and commandeered her laptop, account numbers in hand. He didn’t expect to find anything on her suspects, but it was best to be thorough. He had someone else in mind, anyway. Within an hour, he’d peeked into their private bank records, and none of them had anything suspicious going on. With the exception of the woman who lived outside her means and carried a staggering amount of credit card debt, they all looked clean.
Nothing about Micor would be easy, not even catching an embezzler. If he hadn’t been so frustrated, he would’ve looked on the place as a challenge. As it was, he simply wanted to finish what he’d started. It had been six long years, and he was… tired. He dug the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to rub out some of the grit. Her voice startled him, giving him an unsettling estimate of how much his guard had slipped.
“Can’t sleep?”
These hours before dawn were the most dangerous. He didn’t want to turn, wasn’t sure he could handle her right now. Something made him swivel on the office chair, and his stomach clenched. She was gorgeous. Tousled, touchable, and wrapped in his shirt. She’d only fastened the middle buttons. The sight filled him with wildly inappropriate proprietary impulses. He also found himself mesmerized by the contrast between the fabric and her sun-kissed skin.
“I rarely do,” he managed to answer, though his mouth had gone dry.
She blinked at that. “Night after night? That’s some serious insomnia.”
“I am aware,” he said dryly.
“It’s amazing you look so good, then.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her chagrin. “Are you complimenting me?”
“I didn’t mean to, but… it seems so.”
Søren took a ridiculous amount of pleasure in the fact that she liked the look of him. In anyone else, that might have seemed shallow or even vain, but he’d never experienced the like. Women were never attracted to him, not his body or his mind. He was always a shadow cast in someone else’s image.
“Thank you,” he said.
She seemed puzzled, but she shook it off, passing the island where he’d been working to pull two mugs out of the kitchen cupboard. Then she rummaged. “I can make hot milk, instant hot chocolate, or tea. Pick your poison.”
“Tea. What kind did they leave you?”
“You’re so sure I didn’t pack my own.”
“You don’t seem like a tea toter.”
Her dark eyes flashed in appreciation. “Looks like Sleepy-time herbal. Mmm.”
“I bet it tastes like thistles and wormwood.”
She put the kettle on, easy and graceful, as if they’d done this a hundred times. “That’s how you know it’s good for you.”
He found himself smiling for no reason. “You sound like my mother.”
“She must be a woman of remarkable good sense.”
“She is.” After he spoke, he realized he’d confirmed that his family was still alive. That should alarm him, but he couldn’t dredge up the usual paranoia. Not for Mia.
They stood in companionable silence while the water boiled. Then she filled the cups, sending a citrus-scented steam rising in the room. She added a packet of sweetener to each and let the tea steep. He found himself watching her, starved for the sight of a woman going about such small tasks.
Mia circled around behind him. Søren tensed from long habit and tried to spin to keep his eyes on her, but her hands caught his shoulders. He flinched from the heat of her palms, his muscles tight.
“Here’s the deal.” She spoke into his right ear, making him shiver. “I’m going to rub your back, and you’re going to drink that tea. At the end of ten minutes, you’re coming back to bed. Do you want to argue with me?”
He might’ve, except her hands felt like heaven. She worked him over, kneading with a care that felt as though it would melt him from the inside out. Søren shook his head mutely and drank the tea. The ragged edges of his nerves settled.
By the time she finished and his cup was empty, he felt inclined to say yes to anything she asked. Fortunately, she only took his hand and tugged him back toward the bedroom. Against his better judgment he drew her into his arms.
This wasn’t about sex anymore. It was a lot more complicated.
Their legs tangled as she slid an arm across his waist. The last thing he knew, she was stroking his hair, and then, against all precedent, he slept for the second time that night.
This time, she awoke him with her muffled cries. Søren snapped to full wakefulness, assessing the situation in a single glance. His heart sank as he realized he could guess what she was dreaming about from her position on the bed. He woke her with a gentle touch on her shoulder, whispering in her ear.
To his surprise, she clung to him, damp with sweat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.
“It’s so stupid. So I was tied up. Nothing happened. I wasn’t hurt. I shouldn’t be having these dreams.”
Nightmares, he thought, but he didn’t say it aloud.
“But it made you feel helpless.” He hadn’t realized before, but for a strong woman like Mia, few things would be more horrifying than an utter lack of control over her circumstances. “I wouldn’t have bound you before if-”
“That was different,” she cut in. “I chose to be there with you, like that.”
Yes, choice made all the difference.
“I won’t do that to you again,” he promised. “Leave you with no say.”
“I can’t absolve you. But I will forgive you.” Her dark eyes held the heat of a thousand starlit galaxies.
“Thank you.” He gathered her close and stroked her hair until she fell asleep again.
It felt good to ameliorate the harm he’d inflicted, even in a small way, so Søren kept watch over her deep into the night.