Page 47 of Saved from Deception

A quick glance around the room shows a trio of sympathetic faces. Each one of them understands the conflicting feelings Charlie is having—overwhelming relief that the nightmare is nearly over, warring with a reluctance to believe it actually could be.

“I want…” Tears start to spill down her cheeks. Swallowing hard, she tries again, choking out, “Thank you. I just…” More tears, and she rushes to brush them away. “I shouldn’t be crying—”

I can’t take it, watching her cry and not holding her the way I want to. The way I have wanted to for all these weeks. “Come here.” And I lift her from her chair to my lap, hugging her against me.

That's when she gives up the battle.

She sobs out, “Thank you so much,” and buries her face in my neck.

Stroking her back, rubbing up and down gently, I meet Beth’s empathetic gaze. “Thank you, Beth. Truly.”

While Charlie curls against my chest, I lift my chin at Cole. “So what’s next?”

“Charlie will need to stay here for a while. Even after this Morgan Ives is arrested, it will take some time to remove all the videos and for the attention around Charlie to die down. I don’t want her to leave B and A until it’s absolutely safe.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. Then I turn my attention to Charlie.

Jostling her a little, I nudge her to look up at me. When her tear-streaked face lifts, I brush a few damp strands of hair from her cheeks. “Are you still okay with staying here for a while? With the team? With me?”

Her eyes meet mine, emotion turning them a molten silver.

And then softly, but with no hint of uncertainty. “Yes. I want to stay here. With you.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHARLIE

I can’t believe how much has changed in just a couple of days.

I’m living in a new apartment, in a picturesque village I’d only heard about from a novel. The end of my nightmare is in sight. This woman—Morgan Ives—is in custody, and soon the police will find out her motive. An explanation for why she chose me to go after.

And I have a boyfriend. Though that seems too simple of a word to describe how I feel about Rylan. Even though we haven’t known each other that long, it’s as if I’ve known him for years. All the conversations on our walks through the park, the teasing banter as we play video games, the quiet moments when I just enjoy his company.

I know there are still some things he hasn’t told me about—things that he can’t tell me about—but I know all the important things about him. Like how patient and kind Rylan is. How funny he is. How loyal he is to his teammates.

I know he’s a protector down to his bones, and he’d do anything for the people he cares about. And I know his smile can brighten my day, no matter how dark my surroundings.

Before meeting Rylan, I wouldn’t have believed I could be falling for someone so quickly. My logical side would have pooh-poohed it.

Start to fall for someone after only knowing them a few days? Impossible. But from that moment when Rylan stood by that natural spring and gamely drank that gross water with me, offering to take me to all of them—how could I not?

Another thing I don’t need time to figure out? How much I want him.

I don’t care that Rylan and I have only been official for a few days. I’ve been fantasizing about being with him for weeks. Thinking about how his body would feel over mine, his muscular arms bracing himself over me, wondering how big he is—

The last two mornings, Rylan has shut things down as soon as we go much further than kissing. And I think he’s trying to be careful with me, which I appreciate, but I don’t need it. I’m sure about him.

And now I’m going to make sure he knows it.

What I’m going to do is nothing like the old Charlie, the boring one who would passively wait for a conventionally attractive but boring man to ask her out, then wait again for him to initiate everything.

Not this time. Not with Rylan. I don’t want to wait. So I’m doing something different.

Rylan is still sleeping, but I’ve been awake thinking about this for the last hour. Convincing myself that I’m a grown woman and I can go for what I want.

We’re spooning, his arm draped over my waist, and I carefully turn so I’m facing him. In sleep, Rylan looks younger, softer, and my chest swells with this overwhelming need to protect him. It seems silly, almost—he’s strong enough to protect himself—but then I think about those scars and a white hot poker of anger jabs through me. I don’t know how it happened, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he isn’t hurt like that again.

He’s wearing shorts made of this thin sweatshirt material, and they definitely don’t leave much to the imagination. Which is fine with me.

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