But alongside that yearning for help came the soul-deep certainty that giving in to such a feeling was a one-way ticket to all kinds of trouble. Because this man and her boyfriend were obviously enemies, and Bruno wouldn’t tolerate her being friends with—or, hell, even talking to—this guy even if they weren’t.
Still, she did need to get Jenna in bed. And he was already here . . .
Clearing her throat, Crystal nodded without looking at him. “Would you help me get her back in bed, please?”
He was immediately beside her, heat and strength radiating off of him. “Of course.”
Crystal chanced a glance at him and instantly regretted it. Because his expression was filled with pure earnest desire to help her. To help them. And, no, she hadn’t forgotten that he was hoping for some sort of help from her, too. But he’d never once suggested any of this was a quid pro quo. She rose and gave him room to pick up Jenna.
He lifted her sister and, just like earlier, the gentleness and care with which he handled Jenna almost tempted Crystal to give in . . . to open up . . . One knee braced on the mattress, he leaned forward so he could place Jenna closer to the wall. So she wouldn’t fall out of bed again, so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Crystal didn’t need him to explain why he’d done it because it was exactly what she would’ve done. And there was that temptation again. Causing her stomach to flutter and her heart to race.
Without asking, the man retrieved the blanket from the floor and laid it over Jenna like she was a baby he didn’t want to wake. He was a big guy—tall, broad-shouldered, muscular—and the gun holstered under his arm said he was dangerous, too. But he was also the most gentle, kind man she’d ever met.
God, I need to get him out of here.
Holding a pile of books so it wouldn’t topple, he eased the nightstand a few inches away from the side of Jenna’s bed.
Crystal didn’t know whether to scream or throw herself at him—an odd thought for someone who’d lived through what she had.
“Come on,” she whispered. Not wanting to chance seeing him do one more thoughtful thing, she turned and marched to the door, then glared at him as he crossed the room.
The moment he registered her annoyance was clear because the concerned expression slid off his face in exchange for a confused one. “What?” he whispered, closing the door without making a sound.
And that was when she realized. She’d been on the verge of cursing him out and tossing his unfairly sexy butt out the front door. But she didn’t know who it was she’d be cursing or tossing.
All this time he’d been in her house, and she’d never asked his name.
Smart, Crystal. Real smart.
And as much as she needed to stick with Plan A and make him go, that wasn’t what came out of her mouth. “I don’t even know your name,” she bit out.
He smiled.
Oh, my God, did he smile.
It was a smile that made her think of lazy summer afternoons spent lying in the sun. Warm and sweet and reassuring.
“Well, pardon my manners, darlin’.” He extended his big hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m Shane.”
“Shane, huh?” she said, dropping her gaze to his hand as he lowered it to his side again. Because the combination of the Southern lilt to his voice with that smile and that face was too much to take in all at once. “Just Shane?” She peered up under her lashes.
For an instant, those gray eyes narrowed. Assessing. Weighing. No way he was going to tell her his real name. Not after—
“Shane McCallan.” He said it in a low voice, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want anyone but her to hear.
And Crystal nearly gasped. If he’d have hit her, she would’ve been less surprised. Because her gut said he was telling the truth. And, God, that meant he’d just given her all kinds of power. And the intense cast of his gaze told her he was well aware of that, too.
“Shane McCallan,” she murmured, needing to try the name out on her tongue. Shaking away the sensation that the floor might be moving, she gestured him toward the living room.
“Wait,” he said, a thumb pointing over his shoulder. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
She couldn’t stop the eye roll. Because, suuure, why the hell not? He might as well just kick his shoes off and stay for dinner at this point.
He winked and turned for the door.
“Light switch is on the left,” she said.
He closed the door—quietly again—and Crystal stood there for a moment. When she realized she was staring at the door, like maybe she could will him out, she whirled and made a straight shot for the living room. Where she stood again, not knowing what to do with herself.
All at once, she became conscious of the apartment. When her father went to prison, they’d lost the house she and Jenna had lived in their whole lives to legal fees and their father’s debts to Church. And, with Bruno’s help, they’d landed at this inexpensive and not very nice apartment complex with a handful of their belongings they’d managed to hang on to. She’d been damn proud of every one of her garage-sale finds at the time, but now she wondered what Shane saw when he looked around. And would he wonder how a woman with a houseful of obvious hand-me-downs had afforded all the high-end media equipment? The flat-screen TV, various components, and stereo were all Bruno’s doing. His patience with her no-bells-and-whistles TV had lasted about five minutes.
Crystal fought the urge to plump the throw pillows, put her running shoes away, and try to make the yellowed blinds hang straight. She kept the place neat and homey for her and Jenna, but Crystal never worried about what others might think because she never had visitors. She paced into the galley-style kitchen and had to resist washing the breakfast dishes.
Gah! Whatever!
The only person who ever saw the inside of the place besides her and Jenna was Bruno. On a few rare instances, one of his guys had stopped by to see him on business. But Crystal could count the number of times that had happened on one hand.
Speaking of Bruno . . . Crystal tore her cell phone from her pocket and woke up the LED screen. Her shoulders sank in relief. She hadn’t missed any calls or texts while she’d been dealing with Jenna . . . and Shane. Bruno was obsessive about her responding immediately when he contacted her. A missed message could have him showing up at her door.
And that would be really, really bad right now.
Good thing he’d made it clear he wouldn’t be over tonight. And she felt confident in that. Because not only did he have a crisis to handle for Church, but he often stayed away for a day or two after he’d beat her. Like he didn’t want to see the evidence of his handiwork on her skin.
Frowning, she slipped her phone back into her jeans and wondered what the hell was taking Pretty Boy so long. Even though she now knew his name, she suspected the nickname wouldn’t disappear anytime soon from her thoughts.
Not that she’d be thinking about him or anything.
She rounded the doorway of the kitchen in time to see Shane turning out the bathroom light and striding up the short hallway toward her.
Guy had to be over six feet tall. And man, he moved in ways that made her curious about things she had no business being curious about. Like what someone so gentle and so kind and so mind-bogglingly sexy would be like in bed . . .
Heat immediately flooded her cheeks, the curse of her pale skin. At the same time, her stomach went on a roller-coaster ride. The thought of trying to be with someone else after what’d happened to her was like free-falling off the edge of a cliff—freeing and terrifying at the same time.