Once Upon a Rose(87)

Light and warmth and welcome.

She just went through that door he had left unlocked, to that space where he had said she was welcome to stay, and sought refuge there, locking the door against the dark outside.





Chapter 19


Not only was Matt’s own door locked against him—that strange, alien gesture that kind of pierced his heart with how vulnerable and small Layla must feel in this world, compared to him—but an empty bowl of cereal sat in his sink, her guitar leaned against his biggest leather armchair, and she was sleeping in his bed.

Now how the hell was that fair?

He folded his arms over his chest.

That was just—that was outrageous, that was what that was.

She lied to him about who she was, she lured him in under false pretenses, she stole his heart—his valley’s heart, he meant. His valley. And now, when a man had spent four hours climbing rocks to try to work his mad out and not yell at her, he came home to find her curled up in his bed, with his light on in his bathroom as if she’d been scared without it, and her arm over his pillow, as if it had substituted for a teddy-bear, and all that curly hair mushed and tangled across her face, and her lips faintly parted in sleep, and…

That was just cheating.

He growled about it, very softly, experimentally, but she didn’t wake up, and he felt instantly guilty for adding any possible fear factors for a woman who had clearly gotten scared of the dark.

He felt guilty for not having been there, so she hadn’t been scared of the dark.

She’d told him flat out that she’d been on her own in strange situations for a long time.

He was good at handling the kind of fears that came after a woman when she was alone in the dark. Those were the kind of fears he could punch in the nose. When he got done with those kind of fears, they whimpered back where they came from and never, ever messed with what was his to protect again.

He eased closer to the bed. It was late. She was very obviously sleepy. Maybe he could just skip this whole confrontation-over-lying part and, and…what? His heart winced at the options. Pretend she was telling him the truth? Pretend she was here forever?

She looked really good in his bed, damn it. She looked as if she should be there forever.

A curl had gotten caught against her parted lips. One of his hands worked its own way free of the protective fold of his arms and eased that curl away. Then the other curls, stroking them back, freeing her face. Her hair was so damn intensely curly that it felt a bit like parting the bramble bushes to get to the princess when he did that.

He glanced around, but there was definitely no one to see him be such a complete idiot, and because he was an idiot, clearly, he bent and snuck a little kiss of the sleeping princess.

She screamed, coming awake in a clawing, fighting roil.

“It’s me!” He jumped back. Damn it. The whole damn prince thing never did work out for him. “Layla! It’s me!”

“Oh, God.” She stilled, blinking around in confusion. “Oh, I’m—here.”

“Where did you think you were?” He made his voice gentle. Well, what? A man couldn’t yell at a woman for lying to him when he’d just terrified her out of her mind. He was not being a softie or a pushover. It could wait one minute, until she calmed down.

“I don’t know.” She pushed a hand across her face as if to clear her vision. “My old room back at my mom’s, maybe. You know how you wake so disoriented when you’re in a new place and your mind still expects to wake up in an old place.”

No. He wasn’t that familiar with that sensation, in fact. He mostly woke up right here. “You still live with your mom?” he asked, distracted by his own curiosity.

“When I’m not touring. I used to not be able to afford my own place. Impractical musician,” she added wryly.

Anger flicked him again. He opened his mouth to bring up the lying—and she launched herself abruptly across the bed into his arms.

They folded around her automatically.

She clutched his shirt and tried to bury herself in him, shivering. “You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.

Yeah, he did seem to have a knack for doing that. He spread his hand wide over her bare arms, rubbing gently. Hell, she was sleeping in one of his T-shirts.

Aww, hell.

That made him feel so damn…mushy.

Also, to be honest, rather aroused.

Damn it, it was not fair for her to be that cute. How the hell was a man supposed to deal with that?

“I think you gave me a bloody nose,” he said.

She looked up at him quickly, in credulous guilt. “I did not!” she realized in instant relief. And then, “Oh, crap, I did scratch you, though.” Her fingers stroked over his cheek.