Page 14 of His Forever Princess

ChapterFour

Gideon came to when the door quietly closed. Unlike earlier—or was it yesterday?—there was no disorientation.

The bathroom door was open, the light off.

Where was Alessandra? Had she gone outside?

He sat up in the bed, and as the blanket fell away, he realized he was mostly undressed. He remembered being out in the snowstorm, losing track of time and direction, but his memories of reaching the cabin were fuzzy and full of holes.

He'd been glad to see Alessandra. So glad. He'd wanted to grab her and kiss her.

He'd been clumsy, falling against the cabin to stay upright.

Now every muscle hurt. His skin hurt.

He staggered to the window and pushed back the blind. Relief surged when he saw Alessandra, her hair like a flag behind her, heading for the wood pile.

The snow had stopped, and the wood pile wasn't far, but it was growing dark, and shadows cast by the trees around them had an ominous feel.

She shouldn't be out there alone.

Had he slept the day away?

So much for being a heroic protector.

Worry sent him to his duffel. A minor bout of dizziness slowed him down, but he managed to get a pair of jeans on. He was pulling a T-shirt over his head when the door opened and sent a blast of chilled air across his bare feet.

Alessandra came inside, arms full of wood.

"You're up." He heard the same relief in her voice that he'd felt moments ago. Had she been worried about him?

"So I am." He was opening his mouth to apologize that she'd had to light the fire and tend it all day when she turned and knelt next to the pot-bellied stove. Her armful of wood clattered to the floor.

"I was beginning to think I was going to have to drive down the mountain in the dark on icy roads."

He frowned. Alessandra rarely drove herself anywhere—or she hadn't back when they'd been close. She always had a driver or a security guard behind the wheel. Why—?

"To take you to a hospital." She tossed the words over her shoulder, and he caught the glint of unshed tears in her eyes before she gave him her back.

His heart in his throat, he took a step closer.

She didn't seem to register his motion. She opened the stove door with a creak and fed in two chunks of split wood. She closed the door but remained where she was, kneeling on the floor with her shoulders hunched.

He couldn't help himself. He crossed the space between them and reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Allie, I'm sorry—"

He wasn't prepared for the hit when he glimpsed her teary eyes, wasn't prepared for her to awkwardly launch herself at him, to knock him on his butt on the floor.

She was in his arms, clinging tightly to him, and he didn't care that she'd swept him off his feet.

He held her as she breathed into the neck of his shirt. She wasn't crying, not that he could tell. She'd always been tough.

He should let her go, get her a tissue or something. But instead, he found himself rubbing her back in soothing strokes. Every moment he held her heightened the storm inside of him. He'd missed this. Missed her. A constant pain. As if a part of him was missing.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he murmured into her hair.

She drew in a shuddery breath and then her head tipped back, giving him a close up view of the concern in her wet eyes.

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