Page 51 of Web of Lies
I wanted Shaun in the shower. I still want him right now, not that I can actually act on it. His hands felt so good. Maybe it's because I haven't been touched like that in far too long, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about how his rough palms felt moving across my skin. I wouldn't mind having more of that, even if it's utterly ridiculous to want it. And I wouldn't mind if Wyatt gave me the same attention. Maybe we could turn his broody, serious frown into something a little warmer.
This isn't helping. Thinking about the things I want and wouldn't mind is only going to make the inevitable worse. If this is really Stockholm Syndrome, I'm going to need even more therapy than I'm already in for. Losing my Dad. Adrian being horrible. And now developing feelings for these two... yeah. My therapist will be able to buy a new house or two by the time she gets me straightened out.
I can’t relax. I’m so tight with anxiety about tomorrow that I can’t take a deep breath. What if something goes wrong? What if they decide that they'd like the money after all and they give me over to him when they see it? What if I'm laying here mooning over the very men who intend to send me straight back into Adrian's hands, regardless of how they make me feel?
“Stop thinking, Larken. I can feel it. Aren't you tired?”
I open my eyes to find Wyatt staring at me from a few inches away. We're facing each other, the distance between our cuffed wrists keeping us so close together.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry,” he says softly. “You have a lot to think about. But please try not to. Everything is going to be alright.”
“Please don't let Adrian take me again.” I whisper the words, closing my eyes against the sound of them.
“Come here.” Wyatt shifts us around until his arms are wrapped around me. My hand is resting in his but he isn't restraining me at all or holding me. He's just letting me rest against him.
He's so warm. Solid. He tucks his knees against the backs of mine and I can almost feel him smile when I tuck a foot between his calves. It isn't even awkward. It should definitely be awkward but it isn't. It feels as good to be in his arms now as it did when I was crying before.
“I'm not going to let Adrian take you.” He wraps his arm more securely around my waist. “Shaun isn't going to let Adrian take you. We are going to let him give us whatever money he's managed to collect, though. And then we'll deal with him. You don't have anything to be afraid of. Men like Adrian are weak. They don't fight, they just do what they're told. I told him to bring the money and he's going to. Only he's doing it for nothing because we won't let him have you.”
I nod but I don't say anything else. I'm afraid to. I don't think I care to think about what dealing with Adrian is going to involve, and I don't want to spend any time thinking about why I'm not bothered by it. I'm terrified of the hope that flutters in my chest at Wyatt's protective words. I'm afraid to believe him. My emotions are all over the place and I don't want to cry anymore.
“Sleep, Larken. I'm here, I've got you. We’ve got you.”
I take a deep breath and allow myself to feel his words, feel his body against mine. I allow myself to believe him, if only for this night, and I close my eyes.
When I open them again, the room is bright and I can hear Shaun singing, horribly I might add, from downstairs.
“He's down there making a god awful mess,” Wyatt grumbles thickly.
I smile, enjoying the bizarrely domestic moment. “It doesn't smell like anything's on fire.”
“Yet,” Wyatt says before he yawns. “Are you ready to go down there and see what he's done? Or do you want a few more minutes of peace?”
“Your call.”
“Two more minutes.” He pulls me back into the firm, warm wall of his body and drags in a long breath. “Forgive me for indulging myself, Larken. It's been a while since I slept next to someone. Handcuffs aren't typically involved, but they add to the coziness, don't you think?”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. “Is that a real question?”
Wyatt's chest shakes with his husky, unnecessarily sexy chuckle. “Shh,” he hushes. “Give me my two minutes.”
“One minute.”
“Shh.”
Wyatt's two minutes turns into five before he groans and pulls us up into sitting positions. The loss of his warm strength behind me feels like being doused with a bucket of ice water. He stands up and waits for me to scoot off the bed, then he links his fingers with mine and leads me from the bedroom and down the stairs. I'm struck again with how nice it feels to have his fingers laced with mine and how completely domestic it is. Holding hands is underrated. I can't even remember the last time Adrian held my hand without making it about holding me down.
The kitchen is only mostly destroyed when we get there. There is a tower of oddly shaped pancakes on a plate on the counter next to another plate of bacon and scrambled eggs. An open carton of orange juice is also on the counter but the lid is completely missing. There is also a pot of … something … bubbling on the stove.
Shaun is pouring coffee into mugs. And he's wearing an apron. No shirt, just an apron and low-slung jeans. I stare, no, that's not right. Igawkat the display of barefoot, shirtless, apron-wearing, bad boy pouring my coffee.
“Good morning, lovebirds” he chirps over his shoulder. “How did we sleep?”
Wyatt pulls out my chair and gets me seated before taking his seat next to me. “Like a rock. Can I have the key?”
“I lost it.”
