Page 6 of Vegas Baby

“I’m really sure.”

The corner of his lips pulls up and it softens me. Even though I don’t deserve to be taken care of by someone when all he gets in return is the risk of harm. Unless he’s expecting something else.

And even though I don’t get any sketchy vibes off him, the thought sends me back to fully alert and awake. “I’m sorry, something just doesn’t make sense. What are you getting out of helping me?”

Sebastian pulls his hand back. “I know, it doesn’t make sense, does it?” he agrees pensively. “I get from your perspective, my offering to help you is weird. Hell, it’s a little weird to me too. And you’re in an extremely vulnerable situation. I just want to help, Kira, I promise. I have a one-bedroom apartment. You can have the bedroom. The door locks. If you want I can … I don’t know … I can ask the nurses if they can document whose care you were discharged to with my name and address and stuff. Though I’m not sure they’d be happy about me taking a patient home, I don’t think it’s against the rules or anything.”

As I stare at him, trying to figure out the lesser of evils in this scenario, exhaustion creeps back in. And I realize no matter what he says or does, I’m really going to have to trust my gut. Something I used to be able to rely on.

Maybe I still can. Sebastian doesn’t feel dangerous. Quite the opposite. He radiates concern and warmth and compassion. I don’t think he’s offering his help out of anything but the goodness of his heart. It’s only because of my own warped mistrust and history I expect him to offer his assistance for the wrong reasons.

Andrei aside, Sebastian is not the kind of man I would associate with, simply because I just don’t think I’m worthy of the attention of someone who seems so pure of heart. Because mine was poisoned and warped long ago. It’s why I have trouble getting close to anyone anymore … well, when I’m allowed to.

Unfortunately, I know if I go back, I may not survive. Would I have picked these circumstances to make my escape? Not in a million years. But on some level, I know it may be now or never.

“Okay,” I say simply.

Sebastian’s head snaps up. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I repeat, ever so slightly lifting one shoulder.

He nods slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I’ll let your nurse know then,” he says slowly.

I reach out and find his hand again, this time with mine covering his. I try to contain all the emotions I’m feeling as I say simply, in a shaky voice, “Thank you.”

4

SEBASTIAN

“So, this is my apartment.”

I step back to let Kira in. I’d have rather helped her walk, but she’s stubbornly independent. If I didn’t live on the ground floor, I might have insisted. I don’t know whether I should admire her for it or be worried about her ability to admit to her limits right now.

The tiny brunette slips inside, and I close the door slowly so as not to spook her. Ever since I saw the fear and mistrust in her eyes during our discussion at the hospital, I’ve been watching her body language like a hawk. I can practically taste her unease in the tense air around her. It’s obvious how badly she wants to run. I don’t take it personally.

Her eyes roam over the sparse, utilitarian furniture. Bachelor standard, really, but not bad to look at.

“It’s clean,” is all she says.

I shrug. “I’m not here much. Basically, just to sleep. Speaking of which —” I point to the short hallway to her right “— the door at the end is the bathroom. The one on the left is the bedroom. You can have a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll change the sheets for you.”

She starts to shake her head but hisses in pain. “I don’t care,” she mutters instead. “I just want to rest.”

“You’re the boss,” I reply, heading down the hall and opening the bedroom door. Sighing in relief when I see I’d remembered to make the bed and there are no dirty clothes on the floor. I open the closet and pull a shirt and a pair of sweats out of a box in the back and hand them to her. She eyes me suspiciously. “I assume you don’t want to wear that leotard the whole time. They’re clean. You’re welcome to wear them. Hell, you can have them for all I care.”

She examines the obviously women’s clothing in her hands. “I take it whoever these belonged to is no longer around?”

I don’t know her well enough yet to know whether she’s fishing for information about my relationship status, but in any case, I have no problem giving it to her. It’s not like I’m trying to get her in bed. Well, not for sex anyway.

“No, though I honestly don’t remember whose they were. There’s a whole box of castoffs —” I drag the box out and gesture “— help yourself.”

“So you’re a man-whore then. Lots of women you don’t remember.”

Funnily enough, her tone isn’t disgusted or accusatory. More like amused.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But for whatever reason, women have a habit of leaving their clothes here.” I shrug, not wanting to be psychoanalyzed over why I keep them. They’re not trophies or anything. I just feel weird about getting rid of them. Besides, they obviously came in handy.

“You really don’t know why?” she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

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