Page 56 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

She turned to me, drawing my gaze upward. I clearly read the anxiety in her expression as she twisted her hands together. “I’ll take the couch. You’ll be more comfortable in the bed, and?—”

I shook my head as I stepped forward, effectively cutting her off. “What?” She tipped her head to one side. “You won’t be able to rest out here.”

I shook my head again. I wouldn’t rest anyway. I couldn’t afford to. Since the moment I’d regained consciousness, I’d constantly been checking the windows, watching and listening for anything out of place. Tonight would be no different.

Her eyes widened slightly as I reached her. “But…”

I took her shoulders in my hands, then slowly turned her and gave her a gentle shove in the direction of her room. “Are you sure? I…” She bit her lip. “I feel bad.”

I tipped my head toward her room, indicating that she should go to bed. Indecision creased her features even as her feet carried her away from me. “All right. If you need anything…”

I waved away her offer, watching until she’d disappeared into the bedroom. Once she was ensconced inside, I took the opportunity to check the windows to make sure they were latched. The front door was locked, the bolt still in place. Moving quietly I cut through the kitchen and slipped out the back door.

The moon was high in the sky, and the silvery light spilled over the backyard. I melded into the darkness, ears tuned to the night sounds. It was noisy tonight. That was a good thing. It meant nothing out of the ordinary was lurking in the woods. Even so, I canvassed the yard, familiarizing myself with the layout, studying every shadow. Once I made sure everything was secure, I headed back inside.

Grabbing one of the wooden chairs at the table, I hauled it into the living room and placed it in the corner. From here I had a vantage point of both doors. I settled in, ready to endure the night.

Seven

LILY

I jolted upright, ripped from sleep. My heart raced and my lungs heaved as I fought to draw in oxygen, my mind spinning incoherently as I tried to place exactly what it was that had woken me. Fear pinned me in place, and my gaze flew around the room.

Everything was the same. My door was still closed, the lock in place. The window next to the bed was closed, the clothes I’d dropped on the floor last night untouched.

And suddenly I remembered. I wasn’t alone.

I scrambled from the bed, tossing the covers aside and tripping over a shoe in my haste to get to the door. Had something happened to Smith? Was that what had pulled me from sleep?

I twisted the lock then yanked open the door, stumbling into the hallway half-crazed. A small voice in the back of my mind screamed that I was unarmed, completely helpless to stop anyone. But all that mattered was getting to him.

A familiar sound tickled my memory just as I lunged into the kitchen. Smith turned to look at me from his place in front of the stove, and I blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”

His head cocked slightly to one side, his dark eyes filled with concern and wariness as he studied me. He set down the spatula before slowly approaching and pulling out a chair. I melted into it, my rubbery legs unable to hold me up any longer.

Remnants of worry still coursed through my body, and I tucked my shaky hands between my thighs. “I’m sorry, I…”

Smith retrieved a glass from the cupboard, then filled it with orange juice and set it in front of me. I didn’t trust myself to pick it up yet without spilling it, so I offered a small smile. “Thanks.”

He shook his head, then grasped my wrist, slowly extracting my hand and pressing the cup into my palm. The glass was cool, and it helped to soothe my fraught nerves. Smith towered over me, brows pulled together as he stared intently, silently commanding me to drink.

My fingers trembled, and his large hand wrapped lightly around mine as he helped guide the glass to my lips. I took a small sip, then another, before replacing it on the table. “I thought something happened,” I explained. “I was worried, and…”

His frown became even more pronounced as he stared at me. I probably sounded ridiculous. This man was obviously more than capable of caring for himself. He didn’t need me rushing to his rescue. My cheeks flared, and I focused on my drink, slowly draining the cup.

Smith eventually moved away, returning to the stove. I studied his efficient movements as he flipped the pancakes and turned the eggs in the pan. My gaze flitted over the room. “Where’s the other chair?”

Using the spatula, he pointed to the living room. The kitchen chair was settled in the corner of the room, looking incredibly out of place. “Why is it there?”

He turned the eggs once more, then pointed from the back door to the front door. “So you can see both doors?” I interpreted.

He nodded, and I turned that bit of information over in my mind. He’d clearly been in the kitchen for a while since he was almost finished with breakfast. Why move the chair into the living room if?—

“Wait.” My gaze slid to the sheets stretched over the couch, unwrinkled and still perfectly in place, then back to Smith. “Did you sleep there?”

He shook his head, but even in my half-awakened state, I recognized that wasn’t the full truth. Possibilities flickered through my mind then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. “You kept watch.” I gaped at him. “That’s not where you slept. It’s where you sat so you could watch the house.”

He just shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. I was out of my chair before I realized what I was doing. “Is someone after you? We should call the police.”

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