Page 48 of Dark Secrets

ChapterTwenty

Rolling onto his side away from the harsh midmorning light burning through the window, James clutched the pillow he wished was Delaney to his chest. They’d come up for air to have dinner and finish their game of pool, though he’d barely been able to keep his hands off her long enough for her to win because she’d been playing in one of his t-shirts. The hem barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

After beating him, they fell back into bed. But she hadn’t stayed, and he hadn’t pushed her. No matter how much he wanted to wrap around her and hold her all night long, he’d never push her.

She was running from something. She was scared, and he’d be damned if he ever gave her a reason to be scared of him. He’d much rather take his time and earn her trust, even if he didn’t deserve it.

Giving up on falling back asleep, he shoved out of bed and slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. She still hadn’t stored any of her things in the bathroom. There were no bottles of shampoo or soap on the empty shelves in the shower, no makeup palettes on the sink, not even a toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. He wondered if that would change now that she’d decided to stay.

Against his better judgment, he wanted her with him, and now that she was, he wondered if it was a mistake. Not just because he’d given in to everything he’d been trying to hold himself back from for weeks, but because he couldn’t afford to have her this close for God knew how long. How was he supposed to keep his life a secret from the woman who lived across the hall?

He couldn’t tell her about the syndicate, couldn’t explain his late-night activities or why he might occasionally come home with blood on his clothes or the fact that there was a gun safe hidden in his closet. He couldn’t let her see that he never left his apartment unarmed. Not even to work in the pub.

Turning off the water, he ran a towel over his head and chest and then wrapped it around his waist. He couldn’t even introduce her to his family. Not that introducing her to his family was a thing he should be worrying about at this stage. He’d only known her for a month, only spent one night with her, but it would simply never be a possibility he could entertain.

At some point, he would have to let her go, and the only thing between now and that inevitable conclusion was how long he decided to torture himself with her. But that was a problem for another day. Maybe it was better knowing it wouldn’t last forever. He could focus on enjoying whatever time they had together for as long as they had it.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and padded barefoot down the hall. He could just hear her stirring as he passed her door and decided to leave her to her morning routine. They could save any awkwardness for breakfast. He felt like omelets today.

The shower rushed to life overhead as he pulled ingredients from the fridge and started chopping them. A bit of leftover pepper, ham, and some mushrooms. He poured them into a hot pan and let them cook while he cracked eggs into a bowl. Whisking them with salt and pepper, he heard the shower stop and the click of her bedroom door closing.

He was just pouring eggs over melted butter when she appeared at the top of the stairs. Her fingers toyed with the sleeves of her sweater as she made her way into the kitchen, her tell for when she was nervous or uncomfortable.

“This first omelet is all yours. Unless you want something else.”

“No. I love omelets.” She offered a thin smile. “Thanks.”

He couldn’t stand the way she looked at him, like she might bolt at any second. For the first time, he wondered if she regretted last night. He kicked himself. She’d told him she wanted to stay, that she felt safe here, and the first thing he’d done was give in to his own desire to fuck her. What an idiot.

“Are you okay? With…” Jesus, how did he even say it? “With everything that happened last night?”

She skirted the kitchen island and pulled the bread from the pantry, crossing to the toaster and adding two slices. “Yeah, last night was really great.”

Something in her tone made him think that wasn’t the whole of it, but he couldn’t tell if she needed space or to be pulled close.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay anymore after that. I can help you find somewhere else.”

She stared into the toaster, and the silence stretched between them like a chasm. He slid the omelet he was making onto a plate as her toast popped up, and she jumped.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Her voice was so quiet, but he could hear it clearly, her need for reassurance. He laid a hand on her shoulder and ran it down the length of her arm, linking his fingers with hers and pulling her toward him. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and he cupped her cheek in his free hand, waiting until her eyes met his.

When they did, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss that was slow and soft and demanded nothing. She slid her arm around his waist, her hand fisting the shirt at the small of his back, and pushed up onto her tiptoes. He growled low in his chest, and she pulled away, a half smile teasing her lips.

“That’s the sound you make,” she murmured. “The one I love.”

“I can’t help it when you do that.” He kissed her lips again quickly and released her. “I don’t want you to leave. But I don’t want you to regret us having slept together either.”

“I thought you might regret it,” she admitted, buttering her toast and setting it on the plate.

“Please. My only regret will be if we never do it again.”

She laughed as he poured his own eggs into the pan and swirled it gently with a spatula. “Okay, well, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“Me too.” He added bread to the toaster for himself, then shuffled the rest of the chopped vegetables on top of his gently cooking eggs. “You’re always welcome in my bed. For sex or for sleeping or whatever else.”

She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, then nodded, taking the bite. “I’ll keep that in mind. Is it okay if I make dinner tonight?”

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