Stirring Attraction(13)
Lily nodded as if this was a good idea.
“No,” he said. “Don’t bother him now. It’s the middle of the night. I’ll go. But I’m not leaving town. I’ll be out there, watching over you, Lily. I’ll stay in my car and patrol the street. So you go on home and lock your doors. And tonight, try to get some sleep. Because no one is getting past me.”
“You’re going to sleep in your car?” she said.
“I didn’t say anything about sleep.” He stole combat naps, but never sleep. Then tomorrow when she went to work, he’d talk to Noah, his dad—anyone who might be able to help him find the son of a bitch who’d hurt her. He didn’t care if her assailant had targeted her or not—Dominic was going to make damn sure Lily knew the bastard would never hurt her again. “But I’m not leaving you, Lil. Not until I know you feel safe.”
“You don’t really believe there’s a threat out there,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
He studied the woman he saw every damn time he closed his eyes. Beneath her work shirt and jeans, she still possessed curves designed to bring his need to a boiling point. She looked the same apart from the still-angry slash marks. But he could see from here that she didn’t feel the same.
That makes two of us.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” he said. “How you feel—that’s all I give a damn about.”
She let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Now you choose to care about my feelings?”
He nodded. What the hell could he say? That he wanted the world for her? That he always had? But he’d never been the guy to put her first and he damn well knew it. And now, he was a broken mess.
“I’m going to find him, Lil. The man who hurt you.” He turned to the door and pulled it open. “I’ll be in my car whenever you’re ready to head home.”
DOMINIC REACHED FOR the mega-sized coffee cup and came up empty. He’d run out just as the sun was high in the Oregon sky. But he had feeling Lily wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. Sure, they’d driven to her quiet cul-de-sac not long after the pie-throwing incident in the bar. But she’d spent the next hour or so walking through her house, turning lights on and off as if she needed to check behind every door.
And then she’d fallen asleep with the curtains pulled open, her hand resting on the windowsill, and her face turned toward him.
He hadn’t moved since. Sure, he could use a nap. And he needed to wash the berry pie out of his beard once he got out of this car. Positioning the empty coffee cup back in the holder, he shifted in his seat. The baby-blue rental sedan felt cramped compared to the truck he’d left behind in Georgia.
He’d thought about coming home a time or ten. He’d debated asking his dad for a job with the police force. Only he couldn’t shoot. Maybe one day, with more physical therapy . . . but that day had moved further and further away as his physical therapy stagnated. The nerves in his hand refused to respond. So he’d stopped going. He’d given up.
With the way the sunlight hit her bedroom window, he couldn’t see inside. He could picture the pink walls. He’d peered inside once. Of course, her mother had hovered nearby to make damn sure he kept his feet planted firmly in the hall. But he’d glanced enough to know her walls matched her favorite nail polish color. And just thinking about those pink toes . . .
He glanced down at his lap and willed himself not to feel a thing. He couldn’t want her. They’d traveled down that road and hit too many dead ends. She’d built a life here. And his had taken him to places he didn’t want to remember. He’d fought through nightmares, so damn determined to make it all worthwhile, until one man with a gun had stripped away his sense of purpose.
And if they couldn’t make their relationship work when he was something—a soldier, a ranger—Lily wouldn’t want him now. Even if they got past her desire to hurl things at him for daring to come home to watch over her, he had a feeling she’d still be pissed he hadn’t shown up years earlier looking for her heart.
Knock.
His head turned to the passenger side window and his gaze locked on Lily. She’d exchanged her work clothes for black athletic shorts and a hot-pink long-sleeve top. Her blond hair hung in a long ponytail down her back, and in her hands, she held two steaming mugs.
He leaned across the car’s center console and opened the passenger side door. “You’re up early,” he murmured.
“Coming from the man who I’m guessing never closed his eyes last night.” She handed him a mug. “I thought you might need a cup of coffee. It’s black. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while, so no milk.”