Page 36 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

I ’m pathetic. I’ve done exactly what I promised. Instead of going home, I’m sitting in a McDonald’s ten minutes from my house, staring through the rain-speckled window, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

And wondering why, more than being afraid, I’m disgusted with myself.

It hurt when Gavin rejected my offer. But once he explained why, it made perfect sense.

After spending the day with both men, it’s easy to understand how much they mean to each other.

And Gavin’s loyalty to the older man only adds to the respect I have for him.

He’d put Benny’s wellbeing over his own wants and needs.

When I think of the men I work with every day, I know not one of them would do the same.

Gavin Lake is special.

He proves it every time I’m with him.

Which explains why I’m disgusted with myself. After he explained his rejection of my offer, that should’ve been the end of it. But, oh no, I had to go and make him feel guilty.

Believing he’d jump at the chance to get out of that caravan, my plan had been to show him the threat after he agreed.

There was the risk he might not want to put himself in a situation that might turn dangerous, but I thought I had a pretty good handle on him when it came to protecting me.

According to Gavin, even a simple walk from my car to his caravan requires an escort. Protection .

When he accused me of trying to hide something from him, my brain went into overdrive, and I made a quick decision.

I wouldn’t lie to him. I couldn’t disguise how that threat rattled me, but I hadn’t told him about it to make him feel guilty enough to change his mind.

I’d told him because that’s what friends do. Right?

But is that the only reason? Or does it have something to do with the way he looks at me like he actually sees me?

The way he studies my eyes, my expressions, as if he’s trying to learn the meaning of every reaction?

I usually keep everything locked in tight, but the fact he can read me so easily means there’s no hiding from him.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach, and I can’t decide if that’s terrifying or incredibly attractive.

I need to get a grip. I shouldn’t be sitting here, keeping my promise not to go home until I hear from him. As far as I can gather, there’s only one reason he’ll believe it’s safe for me to go home. He’s trying to find another lawyer to represent him so I won’t be a target.

Staring down at the salad I’ve barely touched, I can’t see how he can accomplish that feat at this time of night, let alone find a lawyer willing to take him on so quickly, or without having to pay a retainer.

After checking my phone again, I turn my attention to the noise and chatter around me.

Families. Everywhere. As I scan the restaurant, I discover I’m the only one sitting on my own, the only idiot who comes to McDonald’s and orders a crappy salad.

I wonder, if my mother had never been murdered, if my life might resemble the people around me.

Would I be married and have a couple of young children by now?

An aching loneliness I’ve kept buried for far too long pierces my heart.

Blinking rapidly to stop the sudden tears from falling, I stare through the water-streaked window into the darkness, forcing myself not to alter my focus.

I don’t want to see the miserable reflection of that lonely woman staring back at me.

I should go home. Really, I try to convince myself, I’m not that scared anymore. But when I think about climbing into bed and lying alone in the dark, my skin crawls and my heartrate kicks up a notch.

My heart kicks up another notch when my phone dings.

Gavin: Go home, Jamie.

That’s it?

I stare at the message for a full minute, waiting for more. Nothing.

I consider calling him and asking what’s changed, but I don’t think I want to know the answer.

After making a short dash to my car through the torrential downpour, I drive home.

When I pull into the garage, I stay in the car with the doors locked, scanning every mirror to make sure no one slips in before the garage door reaches the ground.

Satisfied, I hurry inside, turning on every light I pass until I’m in the bright kitchen.

I almost scream when a loud knock comes from the front door. Hand to my heart, I wonder if it’ll stand up to a few swift kicks.

The knock comes again. It doesn’t sound threatening, just loud. Slipping off my heels, I silently cross to the door. I don’t dare look through the narrow glass panel beside it. Instead, I rise on my toes, inch toward the peephole, and pray there isn’t an eye staring back.

Soaking wet, with a large duffle bag at his feet, Gavin stands on my small porch.

A wave of utter relief sweeps through me as I drop my heels and rest my forehead against the door. But it only takes a few seconds for the guilt burn a hole right through my chest. What has he sacrificed to be here? What about Benny?

Taking a deep breath, I unlock the deadbolt and open the door.

We stand there, staring at each other for a long beat.

Finally, he says, “Benny and I came to an arrangement. If that arrangement suits you, too … I’d like to be here for you.”

His deep, gentle voice engulfs me like an embrace.

My throat tightens painfully, forcing me to stare at my bare feet as I take a step back, silently inviting him inside. After wiping his shoes on the mat, his damp sneakers squeak on the floorboards as he steps past me. I close the door and turn the key in the deadbolt.

But I don’t release it, don’t turn around. I can’t.

No matter how fast I blink, tears slide down my cheeks.

He’s here. I’m safe.

So why am I losing all control? What is it about him that makes me feel so thoroughly secure and protected that I can unravel? I’m supposed to be the one who’s strong, who holds it together for everyone so they don’t have to.

When I try to inhale, my breath catches in my throat, sending a shudder through my body.

A dull thump comes from behind me, then he’s at my back and it’s like the beach all over again. He’s not touching me, but I feel him everywhere.

Without a word, he covers my fist, gently pulls it away from the key, and turns me around. Through blurry eyes swimming with tears, I stare at his chest, unable to meet his gaze. If I do, I’ll turn into a blubbering mess. And I’m sure he’s had enough of that by now.

“Jamie …” he murmurs, the tenderness and concern in his voice everything I know I’ll find in his eyes.

Lurching forward, I wrap my arms around his waist, bury my face in his chest and turn into that weeping mess anyway. As he pulls me in closer, my fists bunch so tightly in his wet t-shirt, water trickles between my fingers. Slipping one large hand beneath my hair, he finds the nape of my neck.

Letting his gentle caress calm me, I tell myself not to feel bad about seeking solace in his arms. The first time I burst into tears, he came to me.

The second time, he needed comforting. I might not know too much about men, but this one clearly doesn’t shy away from a much-needed embrace.

After being deprived for so long, why wouldn’t he take advantage every time the opportunity presents itself?

Focusing on the warmth of his body seeping into mine, I gradually realise my sobs have faded away.

Then I zone in on his thumb doing that calming rotation he does so well.

Only this time, that gentle pad isn’t situated against the nape of my neck.

This time, it’s performing lazy circles behind my earlobe.

God, it feels amazing. And incredibly intimate. Apart from having never been held by anyone the way he holds me, no one’s ever touched me the way he does. Is .

As warmth pools between my legs, my heart starts jackhammering.

I’m not sure if he feels it, but he murmurs, “You okay?”

I nod against the hard pec beneath my cheek, and find I’m either unable or unwilling to let him go yet.

“Contrary to recent evidence, I swear I’m not a crier.”

A low rumble vibrates through his chest. “Jamie, crying and laughing are the rawest, most honest reactions we have. They’re what makes us human.”

His hold on me tightens and, ever so slightly, I’m pressed a little bit firmer against him. Through his wet clothes, all I feel is warmth. I want to look up at him, but I definitely don’t want him to see my puffy eyes and red nose. Not again.

“The amount of stress you’re under,” he continues, “well, if you didn’t release it every now and then, I’d be worried. It’s either that or go crazy. And I can’t have you going insane. I need you.”

He stiffens slightly, then quickly clears his throat, as if realising how those words might be interpreted. But his hold on me doesn’t change.

“I’m getting you wet,” he says, his breath tickling the fine hairs at my hairline, telling me his lips are so close they’re almost touching me.

That, coupled with what he just said, sends heat straight up my neck.

Even though I know he means nothing more than the fact that his clothes are soaking into mine, he’s not wrong on the other front.

Keeping my burning face lowered, I pull away.

The moment I release him, he leans in so close I freeze, my breath catching in my throat, my head spinning. But all he does is remove the key from the door and press it into my palm.

“Never leave a key in the deadbolt. Someone puts a fist through that glass panel, they can let themselves right in,” he explains.

Unable to look at him, I nod like a fool. “Right. Of course. I mean, I should’ve thought of that.”

“I wish you didn’t have to.”

My gaze rises until I’m staring into those intense blue eyes. And I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake inviting him into my home. Because while I attempt to change his life, I think he might change mine too.

“I should find someone else to take up my fight,” he says, still holding my gaze, “If that threat is about me, then—”