Page 37 of King of Praise

His hand leaves the steering wheel briefly to squeeze mine. It’s a rare display of physical affection that sends electricity sparking through my nerve endings. The touch is gone almost instantly, but its warmth lingers.

“I’m not trying to control you, I hope you know that,” he says after a moment. “I just want to keep you safe.”

His explanation makes me smile. “I know. And I appreciate it. Really, I do.”

The cabin appears ahead, a dark shape against darker trees. Home, or the closest thing I have to it now. As we pull up the gravel drive, Micah scans the surroundings with practiced attention. Only when he’s satisfied nothing is amiss does he kill the engine.

“Wait here.” He instructs, though I already know the routine. He’ll check the perimeter, make sure no one has disturbed anything while we were gone.

Micah’s only gone for a moment before he returns, his stride purposeful. He opens my door with old-fashioned courtesy, offering his hand to help me down from the truck. I accept despite not needing the assistance, craving even this brief contact.

“All clear.” His deep voice carries easily in the night air. “Let’s get inside. It’s cold out here.”

I follow him up the porch steps, watching how his shoulders fill out his jacket, how gracefully he moves despite his size.

I’m definitely not thinking about that almost-kiss.

Definitely not imagining what might have happened if he’d actually kissed me.

And definitely not hoping for a similar situation again tonight.

The cabin’s warmth embraces us, along with Powder’s enthusiastic greeting.

Micah secures the door, checking locks with meticulous care before finally relaxing. “I’m glad tonight was helpful, but that meeting was a risk.”

“A calculated one,” I remind him, shedding my coat. “And worth it. I can’t hide forever, Micah.”

He runs a hand through his gray-streaked hair, frustration evident in the gesture. “No. You can’t. But as long as Sandra’s making noise, I’ll worry.”

I step closer, close enough to catch the spicy notes of his cologne. “I know. And I trust your judgment. But tonight reminded me that I’m not alone in this. Other women have survived worse, have rebuilt their lives. I can too.”

Something shifts in his dark eyes—pride maybe, or admiration. “You’re stronger than you know, Naomi.”

Warmth floods through me, settling low in my belly. Micah’s words of approval always affect me this way, triggering responses I try desperately to ignore. I step back before I do something foolish like close the remaining distance between us.

“I should get ready for bed,” I say. “It’s been an emotional evening.”

Micah nods, already moving to build us a fire. “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch in my chair tonight.”

I pause halfway to the bathroom, gathering courage. “You could … I mean, sleep in the bed again. If you want. I’m not upset about before.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy with possibility. Last time he slept in the bed with me, we’d ended up tangled together, his solid warmth chasing away my nightmares. He’s refused the bed ever since. This almost-kiss still hangs unspoken between us, a moment of weakness neither of us has acknowledged before now.

“Naomi.” His voice carries warning and longing in equal measure.

“Just sleep,” I clarify quickly, though we both know it’s more complicated than that. “You need real rest too.”

He studies me for a long moment, internal conflict visible in the set of his jaw. Finally, he nods once, sharp and decisive. “Just sleep.”

I hurry through my bedtime routine, heart racing with anticipation and nerves. When I emerge from the bathroom in sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, Micah has changed intohis pajama pants and a fitted black shirt that does nothing to hide his muscular frame.

We settle into our respective sides of the bed, careful to maintain distance. But in the darkness, with only the sound of our breathing and Powder’s contented purring, that space feels both monumental and inadequate.

Sleep proves elusive as my mind races with the day’s events. It all swirls together into a complex tapestry of hope and fear, possibility and danger.

A particularly loud purr from Powder breaks the silence. “Your cat is ridiculous,” I whisper, smiling as she kneads the blanket between us.

Micah’s quiet laugh rumbles through the darkness and it sends a wave of heat straight to my core. I like the sound of his laugh. “You’re not wrong.”