Her mouth parted in surprise. Her eyes flashed, not in anger, but in recognition. Good. They were getting somewhere because she was starting to see what he saw. What he knew.
“Not happy that you kept this from me,” he continued. “That you didn’t come to me the minute this happened. But we’ll work on that. You weren’t mine yet even if I knew you were. But you are now. And you’ll come to me any time you have a problem.”
Slowly she nodded, and satisfaction—triumph—gripped him.
He held out his arm, not liking the distance between them, but not wanting to push her too hard. Not yet. He’d already pushed enough. He wanted her next move to be of her own doing, and so he waited, arm outstretched toward her.
She came readily, with no hesitation, and he liked that. She slid next to him, burrowing into his side so he could wrap his arm around her. And he did. Anchoring her against him. She laid her head against his chest, the top resting just underneath his chin. He liked her tucked there.
She gave a soft sigh and then seemed to melt into him, her body sagging as if a great weight had been lifted off. Relief.
The scent of her hair tantalized him. Soft and sweet, like her. He ran his hand up the length of her arm, enjoying the feel of her skin and knowing that soon, he’d discover all of her flesh. But for now she needed comfort. Safety. A sense of security. She needed to know that he would never hurt her. Never raise his hand to her as Michael had done.
He pressed his lips to her hair and inhaled even as he pressed the kiss to her head.
Deep. Yeah, he was in deep. He didn’t even have a fully thought-out plan. He’d acted on instinct. Knew he had to have her. Knew he had to have her in his space. And he knew if he didn’t press now, that he’d likely lose her.
Overwhelming her seemed the best idea, even if it made him a total bastard. But he wouldn’t compare himself to Michael. He wasn’t that man. He might not be the most understanding, patient and considerate person. And he definitely did not back down when he wanted something. But he’d never, ever raise his hand to a woman. The idea appalled him.
But he absolutely had no such problem meting violence out on the bastard who’d hurt Josie.
He shoved that thought aside, because he knew it had to be dealt with later—and it would be dealt with. But Josie came first. Her needs. Her comfort. Starting right now.
The drive was silent, and Ash did nothing to disturb it. He knew Josie was processing the evening’s events. Knew she was probably having second and third and fourth thoughts. But she was here in his arms, and as long as she was here and not in her apartment, he could fight dirty.
Instead he simply stroked her skin, sliding his palms up and down her arms, offering her comfort the best way he knew how.
“I’m sorry, Ash,” she said quietly, her words nearly lost against his chest.
His hands stopped their upward progress and he tilted his head downward so he could better hear her.
“Why are you sorry?”
“For not calling you. For not responding when I said I would. I was just so freaked out.”
He slid his fingers underneath her chin and turned her face, tipping it upward so her gaze met his. Then he put a finger over her lips.
“Not now. And you won’t apologize to me. There’s nothing to apologize for. We’ll talk this out, Josie. I want to hear every word. But not here. For now just sit here with me, and let me hold you. When we get to my apartment, we’ll talk. But even then you won’t apologize for something that was not your doing. I may not have liked that you didn’t reach out to me when you needed someone, but I understand.”