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Caleb felt Gia’s gaze caress the space between his shoulder blades.
“Maybe Vincente will leave us alone.” He heard the tremble in her voice. The false hope she didn’t believe. “The police are searching for his men. He can’t afford the attention.”
“He won’t.”
“But, maybe he—”
“He won’t.” Caleb turned. Gia had closed the distance between them. “Men like him don’t stop until someone makes them stop.”
Color drained from her face, the light in her eyes dimming. She sat on the orange couch. Tilted her head back. Closed her eyes. Shut him out.
But she couldn’t hide the tremble on her lips.
That sensation crawled across the back of his neck. The sense that there were still things Gia kept from him.
Trust.
She was running from a man who’d abused her trust.
Was with a man who wanted to use her as bait.
Just as Caleb wanted to trust her, he had to earn her trust in return.
He sat next to her, his fingers itching to smooth over the waterfall of glossy hair hanging down the back of the sofa.
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we make a plan. Together.” He gave up the fight and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. The soft strands clung to the calluses on his fingertip. “If there’s an extra pillow and blanket in that bedroom, I’ll make do on the couch.”
Her eyes opened. Their gazes locked. Held.
Need so strong it threatened to level him surged.
His vision narrowed to encompass only Gia. Her deep blue irises framed by thick black lashes that didn’t need mascara to enhance them. The gentle slope of her feminine nose. Her full bottom lip. Even the curves of her ears were graceful.
His lips brushed hers. A gesture of comfort.
That’s what he told himself, at least. And he wouldn’t go any further. It had been a helluva day and there were too many unspoken issues to address.
Except her scent filled his lungs. Her lips tasted like prickly pear from the balm he’d seen her apply several times during the day.
It was becoming his favorite flavor.
“Caleb.”
Her palm lifted to his chest, the feel of her warm skin against the thin cotton of his shirt jacking his muscles taut.
He wanted her hands everywhere on his body. “Get me that pillow and blanket, sweetheart, before I end up sharing that bed with you.”
The rasp in his voice should clue her in on how close he was to kicking his good intentions to the curb.
She took her hand back, gave an unsteady nod, and rose from the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
Caleb removed his weapons—shoulder holster, the knife strapped to his ankle—and placed them on the coffee table.
He wanted Gia.
In his bed.
In his life going forward.