And yet here she was watching late-night television, trying to work up the courage to go back upstairs and face her empty room and the silence that yawned like a chasm.
She could feel the gazes of her security guys resting on her. One had uttered a greeting when she’d come down an hour earlier, but when she hadn’t responded, they took the hint and hadn’t spoken since.
To her annoyance, Kane entered the living room and didn’t seem inclined to ignore her presence like his men had done. He stood a few feet away openly staring at her.
“Is there something we can do, Ms. Jones?”
“Like you care,” she muttered.
“Sulking doesn’t become you.”
She curled her lip into a snarl. “I’m not sulking. I want to be left alone.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And yet here you are in the room with my men.”
“Got a problem with that?” she asked belligerently.
He studied her for a moment. “If I’m to believe Connor when he says you only get more belligerent when you’re threatened or unsure, then I’d say you’re feeling pretty insecure right now.”
She bared her teeth. “Fuck off.”
There was a glimmer of a smile. She could swear his lips twitched, but when she looked harder, she saw only his cool blue eyes staring back at her like she was boring him.
“If there’s nothing you require, we’re going to turn in. Time for the next watch.”
“Whatever.”
“They won’t be coming inside.”
“So? What’s your point?”
“My point is, in thirty seconds you’ll be alone down here.”
She flushed and curled her fingers into fists so he wouldn’t see her hands shake. How did he know? How could he possibly know?
Without a word, she pushed herself from the couch and bolted toward the stairs. Darkness awaited and she made damn sure she turned on every light between the top of the stairs and her bedroom.
She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that Connor had evidently gone to his room. The door between her bedroom and his was closed. And silent. No light crept underneath his door.
What was worse? Being one-on-one and vulnerable with him or being alone?
It took everything she had not to get on the phone and call in the troops. Right now she wasn’t picky. She could fill her room—hell, she could fill every room in this damn house—with people who’d be only too happy to keep her company and prattle on about everything and nothing.
Connor would have a kitten. Kane would be beyond pissed. And it wouldn’t make her feel a damn bit better.
Some memories just haunted you no matter how far or how fast you ran.
She wasn’t in denial of her circumstances. She knew how fucked-up she was and made no apologies to herself. Self-preservation was a powerful thing, and she knew that what she did kept what little of her sanity she still possessed.
Being alone freaked her out. She couldn’t even think about it without feeling the suffocating darkness close in around her. It brought back the feeling of utter helplessness. Guilt. Despair.
The fact that she’d stood by and watched her mother die and never uttered a word. Too scared to cry out. To say stop. To run for help. To scream for help. She’d known that any movement, any sound, would thrust her back into a madman’s attention. And she’d suffered his attentions for far too long.
She closed her eyes and felt the familiar sting of tears. Her head ached from holding so much back, from the constant fight to keep her carefully constructed walls from crumbling.
“Oh, Mama, I’m such a mess,” she whispered.
She hadn’t spoken to her mother in a long time. There were days she still battled her rage and, with it, the terrible guilt for feeling so angry with a mother she’d adored.
She stood in the middle of her room, surrounded by . . . nothing. Silence. Stillness.
“I’m so tired of this,” she whispered.
Panic clawed at her throat at the idea of being here alone. The house. The room. It was all unfamiliar to her. These weren’t her things. No matter how much of a badass Kane professed to be, he couldn’t keep her safe from her dreams. He couldn’t keep her safe from her memories.
Connor.
She stared at their adjoining door and was suddenly filled with such powerful longing that her throat ached and swelled. For several long, wonderful moments she’d found exquisite peace in his arms. He’d made her forget about every bad thing that had ever happened to her.
And she’d taken off like a scared rabbit. He must think she was either crazy as a loon or a first-class bitch. Maybe both.
She took a hesitant step toward his door and then another until she was mere inches away. She laid her palm over the wood and held her breath, listening for any sound from the other side.
It took several minutes to work up the courage to turn the knob. She was half-afraid it would be locked. Part of her hoped that it would be.
The knob turned and she pushed the door open wide enough that she could slide in. Light poured from her room into his and she could see him lying on the bed, the sheet in a tangle around his hips.
For a moment she simply stared, drawn to his chiseled features. His body was beautiful. Lean and muscled. His brow was creased as if he was thinking over an important matter in his sleep. At his side, his fingers were curled into a tight fist.
Now that she was here, she had no idea what to do. She felt like a complete idiot, but the idea of turning around and going back to her empty room filled her with panic.
She closed the door behind her, careful not to make a sound. She waited until her vision adjusted to the darkness of the room and then she tiptoed over to the love seat by the window.
She rarely slept for long periods of time. She could catch a few hours on the couch and be up and out of here before Connor ever woke up. He didn’t even have to know she was ever here.
Feeling marginally better about her panic episode, she eased onto the couch and positioned a cushion under her cheek. A blanket would be nice, but she wasn’t going to tempt fate by going back for one.
She stared over at Connor as she settled and held back a snort. Some security guy he made. She stifled a yawn and closed her eyes. He hadn’t even realized someone had come into his room.
Connor smiled in the darkness as he watched moonlight spill over Lyric’s face. She moved once after she closed her eyes and then went still as she slid into sleep.
She’d bolted but now she was back, and from all appearances she had no desire for him to know it.
Patiently he waited, watching as she slept. When he was satisfied that she was down for the count, he slipped from the bed and pulled the comforter with him.
He draped the blanket over her and gently tucked the ends around her shoulders.
“Good night, Lyric,” he whispered.
Then he smiled and crawled back into bed.
CHAPTER 19
Lyric’s cell phone had rung nonstop since seven that morning. Connor didn’t know how the hell it hadn’t woken her up yet. Even from the next room, the peal was loud and obnoxious. But she was still curled up on his love seat, covers pulled up to her nose. She hadn’t so much as stirred since Connor had risen to shower. For the longest time he’d simply lain in bed watching the soft rise and fall of her chest.
Knowing how little she’d slept in the past days, he was careful not to awaken her. He moved silently around his room, and once he was dressed, he slipped out of the bedroom.
He picked up the annoying cell phone from the nightstand beside her bed—the bed where he’d made love to her just hours before—and pocketed it after seeing there were fourteen missed calls and half as many voice mails.