Page 44 of The Bourbon Bride

I slide into my seat and start the car. I reach for Paige’s hand and hold it in mine, scanning her head to toe to make sure she is okay. She seems fine, physically, but I can tell she is exhausted. The late hour combined with the emotional adrenaline dump leaves her wasted and quiet in the seat next to me. I keep her hand in mine, fingers laced tight as I drive home. Every time I lose her touch, panic surges.

Cerberus greets us at the door when we get in, his stubby tail wagging as he smells us. His tail stills and he growls low as he looks out the door behind us until I shush him. “They didn’t follow us home, you badass, but thanks for having my back. I could have used you earlier.”

He follows at my heels all the way up to the bedroom where I help Paige undress in the bathroom. I crank the shower on and return to where I left her leaning against the sink. It takes two seconds to pull my shirt over my head and get out of my pants so I can help her into the shower.

Her bleary eyes open wide when the water hits her, but she doesn’t move except to bring her hand to my shoulder where bandages cover the three-inch cut. It’s really not that bad. I feel like I need to get a tetanus shot, but I’ll figure it out in the morning. Right now, Paige is my priority and I’m focused on removing the blood from her creamy skin and washing the bad night off of her. Once she’s clean, I duck under another showerhead and scrub my body raw, trying to get the smell of the alley and the carjacker’s blood off me.

I kept pressure on his wound after he fell. Partly because I don’t want to be even a little bit responsible for anyone’s death, even a criminal. Also because it will be much easier to deal with a trial where he’s on the stand for attacking us, not me being grilled for killing in self-defense.

“Oh!”

Paige’s voice has me rubbing water out of my eyes and looking over at her.

“You’re naked.” She brings her hand up to cover her mouth but doesn’t look away.

I chuckle, glad to have her innocence bringing me back to the present. I wash the soap suds from my body and turn my back to her so I don’t wake the beast between my legs that would like to scoop her up and impale her against the shower wall. I shut off the water and grab a towel to wrap around my hips and a second to dry her off.

She stands still, water droplets falling off her chin and down her back from her hair as I smooth the towel over her skin. Once she’s dry, I pass the towel over me quickly and wrap her up so I can carry her to the bed. She doesn’t object and rests her head on my chest until I set her on the side I now think of as hers and go to the closet. I pull on pajama pants and grab a T-shirt before returning to her and slipping it over her head.

“You okay, angel?” I ask, a little worried.

“I was so scared,” she murmurs, her hand brushing wet hair off my forehead. “I thought I had lost you.” Tears well in her eyes, making the clear green brighter.

My heart clenches in my chest and a fiercely protective emotion rises up in me as I wrap her in my arms.

“I’m not going anywhere. You got me, honey.” The only flaw to my statement is if someone else takes away my ability to be here for her. It was too close tonight. That’s not happening again.

The sun streaming through the curtainless windows wakes me before I’m ready. I squint and pull a pillow over my eyes at the slight.

“Fucking sun, how dare you,” I growl hoarsely.

Normally, I’m up before sunrise, so not having curtains has always been an aesthetic thing. Now I’m rethinking my design choices. I must have overslept, likely due to having Paige’s warmth curled against me in my bed where I tucked her in last night. I couldn’t go to the guest room after what we went through. That would have been too far away. I reach for Paige now, wanting to pull her right back into my arms, but all I get is a handful of cool sheets.

I sit up, my eyes opening wide. “Paige?” I call.

I look around the room and notice Cerberus is gone, too, so at least he’s being a good demon spawn shadow, wherever she is. Still, my heart jackhammers away in my chest when she doesn’t reply. I’m out of bed and pounding down the stairs in a sprint as my mind delivers every fucked-up scenario it can to explain her absence.

“Hi,” she says, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee when I skid into the kitchen.

She leans against the counter wearing my old Vanderbilt T-shirt, her hair messy and rumpled, with Cerberus at her bare feet. It’s the most beautiful image my brain can comprehend after the panic that flashed every worst-case possibility through my mind.

My eyes close and my lungs exhale a great breath I must have been holding.

“Fucking scared me, baby. I didn’t know where you were.”

“I’m sorry I scared you. I thought coffee would help with this awful headache I have. Here, I poured you a cup, too, but I don’t know how you take it, so it’s still black.” She holds out a second mug to me.

I gladly take it. Caffeine sounds excellent. I palm the back of her head to bring her to me to kiss her forehead good and long.

“Thank you.”

She tips her chin up and catches my lips with hers.

“That was a rough night.”

“Let’s not repeat that. Ever.”Or anything remotely close, I tack on silently.

I catch sight of dozens of wilted red roses and the bottle of bourbon abandoned on the island from last night. I push her chin with a finger in the direction of the floral carnage.

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