Page 22 of The Retreat

“Get out.” Owen curls in on himself again, but there’s no way that’s happening.

“No.” I get the bottle back in my pocket, afraid to set it down anywhere, then I cup his face in my hands. “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

Owen moves his cheeks against my palms, like a cat wanting pets. I don’t think it was intentional. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“We might not be in love, but we can be friends, right? Allies, at the very least. Partners.” There is nothing I want more than to come first for someone. Gods, I want this man to be in love with me. It would be so easy to fall for him. “That means I care.”

He shudders and closes his eyes, rocking once again. “I don’t fucking want anyone to see me like this.”

“Too damn bad. I’m not fucking leaving.”

We stare at each other for a tense moment before he presses his eyes closed, focusing on breathing.

“Come on, up on the bed.” I reach for his hands, but he doesn’t move. “Owen, get up on the bed.”

“I can’t.”

What the fuck does that mean? There’s only the two of us here.

Thinking about what is close, I pat around the bed for a pillow and blanket and sit on the floor next to him, the pillow behind my back.

“Come here,” I demand, with just enough confidence in my voice that I hope he doesn’t argue. When Owen doesn’t move, I pull him into my arms. In a matter of seconds, he’s in my lap, arms around me, and his fingers digging into my skin as he breathes into my neck. We get settled, and I wrap the blanket around him, and I run my fingers through his hair.

“Just breathe, you’re okay.” I force myself to take long, slow, deep inhales and slow exhales. “Match my breathing.”

It doesn’t take long for him to focus and follow along with me. His face nuzzles into my neck and shoulder, the roughness of his stubble scratching me. I’ve missed beard burn.

“You smell like me,” Owen mutters after a long time.

“I’ve been using your body wash.” My smile comes through my voice, and I hope he hears it.

“Why?”

“To get a rise out of you.”

“Jokes on you. It’s Oliver’s, and I stole it.”

I laugh, knowing Oliver will notice when he gets here.

I don’t know how long we sit like this, with Owen clinging to me, but I like it more than I should. The tension starts to lessen, his heart rate calming, and I smile to myself. It’s been a long time since I helped Cassie through a panic attack, but it looks like I still know how to do it.

Owen’s arms slide down my body, loose with sleep or unconsciousness. I’m not sure which.

I should lay him down. This position is going to give him neck pain.

I have to fight with everything, but I manage to get the pillow from behind me onto the floor and his head on it, but his weight pulls me down with him. When I try to get up, he growls. When I stop playing with his hair, he grumbles and moves to lie on my chest.

In the darkness of this room, with him asleep, I can admit to myself how much I like this. The way he reaches for me when he needs comfort—at least today he is.

I brush a kiss on his forehead, my arm wrapped around his shoulders. I hope he feels better when he wakes up.

Owen is moving next to me, disturbing my peace, and my nap. I don’t know when I fell asleep exactly, but I couldn’t just leave him here alone.

“Stop moving,” I groan and pull him closer with my eyes still closed. I’m on my side and my hip is killing me, but I’m too tired to care much.

A soft brush of lips over mine forces a moan from my chest. My eyebrows lift, but my eyes stay closed. The kiss deepens, just a hint of tongue, and I open immediately for him. Owen is almost hesitant, like he doesn’t have a lot of experience.

Owen is kissing me.

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