Giving In(13)

His instinct was to take her home. His home. Where he knew he could protect her from anything that could possibly hurt her. But she wouldn’t take that at all. She’d likely dissolve into another panic attack, and the one had already put a vicious strain on her.

So he’d take her home. To her home. But damn if he was leaving her in this state. She wouldn’t want him there, but too fucking bad. No way he was leaving her to endure her private hell alone.

Kylie needed someone, though she’d never admit that. She saw it as a weakness, and she was a woman who’d die before allowing others to see her perceived weaknesses. Damn it, didn’t she realize that everyone needed someone at some point in their lives?

And he wanted to be that person she needed even though he knew he was all wrong for her. He wasn’t the man she wanted, that much was obvious. But she did need him. He knew it as well as he knew anything else. Unwavering certainty.

He just had to crack those walls and peel back the layers to the vulnerable, fragile woman behind that iron façade.

It wouldn’t be easy. He wasn’t stupid enough to ever assume that. But nothing good or worth it was ever easy. And he knew in his gut that no matter how crazy it might make him, she was worth it.

He had to tread lightly though, and consider doing something he’d never been willing to do before. Especially for a woman. Let go of his tightly held control and hand over that control—or at least the semblance of control—to her.

It was a new experience for him. One he wasn’t altogether sure was to his liking. It would be hard for a man like him, used to being in control over every aspect of his life. But Kylie needed security. She needed . . . confidence. She needed to be able to trust him, and if he was going to gain that trust, he was going to have to do the bending for them. Because she wouldn’t. She’d refuse to bend until she finally broke. And she was nearing that point with every passing day and every sleepless night. Because if she was sleeping then he was a monkey’s uncle.

He’d be willing to bet everything he owned that her past intruded on her dreams on a nightly basis. He’d seen the evidence far too many times. The bruised shadows in her eyes and under them. Her paleness. The fatigue that beat relentlessly at her, that he could sense with her every breath.

Tonight she’d sleep and she’d sleep knowing she was safe. Because he wasn’t leaving her in this state. No way in hell.

And so he readied himself for the ensuing confrontation, knowing she’d object to his presence in her home. Her space. Perhaps the only place she truly felt safe. But no, that wasn’t true either, because in sleep, even in her closely guarded sanctuary, her dreams tortured her.

Not tonight. Not if he had any damn thing to do with it.

When they pulled into her drive, he got out before she could say anything at all and walked around to open her door, not waiting for her to accept his outstretched hand. He simply reached in, gently took hold of those icy cold fingers and pulled her from the car.

Her gait was unsteady and so, as he’d done outside the restaurant, he pulled her into the safety of his side, tucking her underneath his shoulder as he walked her to her door.

He knew she expected to brush him off once they reached the door. Issue a stiff, polite good-night and perhaps even a stilted thank-you for his help. But then she’d retreat inside and back to her private hell, shutting the door, barring him from her domain.

Fuck that.

He plucked the keys from her hand and unlocked the door, ushering her forward, making sure he was with her the entire way, and only then did he close the door and lock it.

“Jensen,” she protested. “I’m fine. Thank you, but I’m okay now. It was stupid. And embarrassing. But I’d rather be alone right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’ll see me right now,” he said grimly.

Even as he spoke, he directed her toward what he guessed was her bedroom. Her house, as he’d suspected, was the picture of tranquility. Her haven. Not a single thing out of place. A study in calm and peace.

She resisted when they reached her bedroom, turning, a fierce, stubborn glint to her eyes. “You can go now, Jensen.” No trace of her earlier panic attack was evident in her eyes. But it was the tight lines around her lips. The strain in her forehead and the paleness of her face that told him otherwise.

She wasn’t okay and he wasn’t leaving.

“Get dressed for bed while I fix us both a drink. Is your bar stocked? I think something strong is called for.”

She paled and then shook her head. “Only wine, and I rarely indulge. Usually only when I go out with Chessy and Joss or if I’m over at one of their houses.”