Page 45 of Haunted By the Storm
I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her scent. "I'm going to keep you safe," I promise against her skin. "Both of you. Whatever it takes."
"I know," she whispers, her arms tightening around me. "I believe you."
We stay like that for a long moment, holding each other in the quiet room, the only sound our breathing and the distant music still playing downstairs. Eventually, she pulls back, a small smile playing at her lips.
"It's late," she says. "And it's been a hell of a day."
I nod, understanding what she's not saying. Despite her admission, despite our mutual desire, tonight isn't the night to take things further. There's Emily to consider, and the emotional aftermath of everything that's happened.
"I should go," I say, though it's the last thing I want. "Let you get some rest."
She bites her lip, looking uncertain. "Or you could stay," she suggests quietly. "Just to sleep. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."
The request, simple and honest, affects me more deeply than any seduction could have. "Are you sure?"
She nods. "I'm sure."
I follow her to the bedroom, where I watch as she gathers pajamas and disappears into the bathroom to change. I strip down to my boxers and t-shirt and set my gun on the nightstand within easy reach; old habits die hard.
When she returns, wearing loose shorts and a tank top, her hair loose around her shoulders, she hesitates briefly at the sight of me in her bed. Then, with a deep breath, she climbs in beside me, switching off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness.
For a moment, we lie there awkwardly, neither sure how to navigate this new intimacy. Then I reach for her, pulling hergently against my chest, her back to my front, my arm draped protectively over her waist.
She sighs, her body relaxing into mine. "This okay?" I murmur against her hair.
"More than okay," she whispers back, her hand finding mine, fingers intertwining.
Downstairs, the Halloween party continues, muted sounds of music and laughter drifting up from below. But here, in this quiet room, with Camryn's warm body pressed against mine, her breathing slowly evening out as she drifts toward sleep, I find a peace I never expected.
There are still threats to face, battles to fight, a war possibly brewing on the horizon, but for now, in this moment, everything that matters is right here in my arms.
And I'll be damned if I let anyone take it away from me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
camryn
Waking up in Storm's arms feels more natural than it should.
His arm is heavy around my waist, his chest warm against my back, his breath steady and deep against my neck. For a moment, I simply lie there, savoring the unfamiliar comfort of being held and not waking alone.
It's been so long since I've allowed myself this kind of intimacy. Not just the physical closeness but the vulnerability that comes with letting someone past my carefully constructed walls. Since Eric, since what happened when I was sixteen, I've kept men at a distance; dated casually, never letting them get too close, certainly never introducing them to Emily.
Yet here I am, with a biker called Storm asleep in my bed, after a night where he carried my exhausted daughter home from a party, faced down loan sharks on our behalf, and then held me through the night without asking for anything more.
Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing aboutusmakes sense. And yet it feels right in a way I can't explain.
Carefully, trying not to wake him, I turn in his arms to face him. In sleep, his features are softer, the hard lines of his facerelaxed, the perpetual vigilance eased from his brow. His dark hair is mussed, falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, almost boyish.
I resist the urge to touch his face, to trace the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Instead, I simply watch him, trying to reconcile this man with the enforcer who threatened Cantlay's men last night, who confronted Eric with violence I can only imagine.
How can someone be both? How can hands capable of such destruction also hold my daughter with such gentleness and touch me with such care?
"You're staring," he murmurs, eyes still closed.
Heat rises to my cheeks at being caught. "Sorry," I whisper. "Just thinking."
His eyes open then, blue and clear and immediately alert. "About what?"
