Page 90 of Seen Knot Heard

“You’re not.” He cups my cheek. “We’re in this together, sweetheart.”

Nodding, I lean into his chest, and his arms come around my body, holding me close as the dam inside me breaks. My tears soak into his shirt, and he holds me through it all, his strong arms anchoring me as I fall apart, and I realize how much I need him. How much I need all of them.

Blake’s warmth soothes me, his pheromones enveloping my senses. Slowly, my tears subside and my breathing evens out.

I pull back to look up at him through damp lashes. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

Blake tucks a strand of pink hair behind my ear, his fingertips grazing my cheek. “Anytime, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for.”

His words wrap around me like a soft blanket, and I lean into his touch.

An electric charge buzzes in the air between us, desire simmering beneath the surface. I’m hyper-aware of how close we stand, of the way his body heat seeps into mine.

As much as I long to lose myself in his embrace, to forget the dangers lurking outside these walls, the others are expecting him back downstairs.

Blake senses my hesitation and steps back, his hand falling from my face. “I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you.” I manage a weak smile. “For everything.”

His eyes soften. “If you need anything, even just company while you work, I’m here. We all are.”

With a quick brush of lips across my forehead, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him. And leaving me alone with my thoughts, my fears, and the lingering warmth of his touch on my skin.

To distract myself, I haul my suitcase into the small walk-in closet. I take a deep breath, then use the methodical transfer of clothes from my suitcase to the dresser drawers to center myself. The familiar routine soothes my frazzled nerves, but it can’t dispel the unease that coils in my gut.

My mind drifts to the email I need to send, the counteroffer Dominic helped me draft for my new trilogy. Even after I took my pleasure and ran away, he worked on the contract and left my laptop outside of my room for me to find the next morning. It’s a lifeline, a chance to contribute to my place in the pack.

As I stow an oversized sweatshirt in the dresser, my hand drifts to the onesie folded up beside it. I resist the urge to put it on, though. I refuse to let this unknown stalker on the island ruin the safety I’ve found here.

Closing the drawer, I go to the small desk placed in front of a window overlooking the woods at the back of the Homestead. Unease trickles through me as my creative brain whispers that anyone could be watching from the tree lines, and I pull the curtain closed.

I lean to the side, inhaling the fragrant scent of the flowers on my desk, then boot up my laptop. The glow of the screen casts a pale-blue light across the desk, but as I stare at the blank email template, the words I need to write evade me.

How can I think about my career, my dreams, when everything else feels so unsteady? When the people I care about are in danger because of me?

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. I can’t fall apart, not now. I have to be strong, for myself and my pack.

I pull my shoulders back, determined to finish this, and then work on the trilogy outline I had started. Right now, it’s a jumble of scenes I’d like to write and ideas for conflict, but I need to organize it into some semblance of a story structure.

I draft a response to my publishers, attach the counteroffer Dominic put together, and hit send before I second-guess myself again.

Then I open my dump file, make a copy, and get to work, my fingers flying over the keys, the clicking sound grounding me.

Hours slip by as I pour myself into the outline, weaving adventure through the love story. Only when my vision blurs do I resurface, blinking owlishly.

I check the time and am shocked to see how late it’s gotten. Silence fills the house around me, no doubt the pack having long since retired for the night.

Saving my work, I stretch, my muscles protesting after so long in one position.

A loud grumble from my stomach announces a demand for food, and I rise from my desk to go hunt down a snack. I’m one of those people who can’t sleep while hungry. Thoughts of all the foods Icouldbe eating will just keep me awake.

The house is dark and quiet as I pad down the hallway, and I pause at the top of the stairs, my hand resting on the banister. The dim moonlight filtering through the windows casts eerie shadows across the walls, and I shiver. Prickles raise the fine hairs on my arms, an itch I can’t scratch, a whisper in the back of my mind that something is wrong.

I chew on my lip, the flavor of my strawberry lip gloss sweet on my tongue. The earlier encounter with Louie left me rattled, old fears and insecurities rising to the surface.

With a deep breath, I start down the stairs, focusing on taking one step at a time.

At the bottom of the stairs, I rush through the dining room and into the kitchen. I’ll just grab a little snack and then scurry back to the safety of my room.

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