Lila

The drive was silent. They held hands, but said nothing. Dane was hyper-vigilant, turning frequently to check that the back-up car he'd called was close. Checking in with the driver about traffic and potential delays.

​​

The twenty-five minute drive felt like three hours.

When they pulled up to the elevator bay in the parking lot, Dane insisted on getting out first. The back-up car blocked the ramp so no other vehicles could enter. And he had a security guard open the elevator and check for intruders before he even allowed Lila out of the back of the car. She found his cold tone frustrating, but she knew he was coping as best he knew how. So she decided to wait it out until they were alone.

Two security guards came with them in the elevator, and were joined by two more in reception at the Penthouse level. Dane had the men sweep the Penthouse before they walked in, then posted two outside the door, and was on the phone for an hour, barking about perimeters and the monitoring of security cameras.

When the dust finally settled, they were sitting on Dane's couch. He'd pulled off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up, almost to the elbow. His hair fell in five different directions for all the times he'd raked his hand through it. And, except when an answer wasn't coming quickly enough from the team, his tone was flat. Dead.

Then it was done. There was, apparently, nothing else he could do. He signed off the phone call, telling them there would be hourly check ins on all posted guards, then let his hand with the phone in it fall to his side.

The Penthouse silence was suddenly heavy.

Dane stared, blank-faced at the coffee table. Curled up next to him on the couch, Lila leaned one elbow on the back of the couch, and finally touched him with the other.

He startled, but finally turned his head to look at her.

There was a dungeon in his eyes.

"Oh, Dane," she whispered and put a hand to his face. You have to stop blaming yourself for—"

"For giving in and following you at a public event? For giving in and kissing you? Lila, I nearly took your virginity against the wall of a museum."

She rolled her lips in so she wouldn't smile. He wasn't in the mood for joking. That much was clear.

"I'm sorry," she said.

His brows pulled down. "What are you sorry for?"

"For tempting you. I knew what I was doing. I wanted you to lose control. I'm sorry. I never seriously thought anyone was on our trail. If I had… I wouldn't have done it. I want you to know that. I wasn't trying to make this public."

Dane sighed and pushed his head back against the couch. "It's not the public I'm worried about," he rumbled.

"I know. I just want you to know, I'm here. I'll do what needs to be done. I won't try to break your rules or whatever. We're in your area of expertise now. I'm listening, okay? I promise."

He murmured a thank you, but didn't look at her.

"Dane?" she said a minute later when he still hadn't spoken or moved.

"What?" The cold in his voice was killing her. It wasn't directed at her, she knew. She understood now. It was how his body dealt with fear. It was a way he could navigate the terrible situations he found himself in without losing his mind.

It was trauma of the worst kind. But it was hurting him, too. His anger… she was certain it was because he never truly felt things. Never was able to move on. Never let himself forgive or be forgiven.

"Look at me, Dane."

"Not now, Lila."

Her lips pressed thin. She had a choice. She could break him open, make him feel. Make him face it—and deal with the possible consequences if he broke down completely. Or she could give him his space…

It only took a moment to decide.

*****

Dane

The sound of the fabric of her dress rustling first made him think she was getting up from the couch. Despite his relief—he was struggling to meet her eyes—it also made something ache, deep in the hollow of his chest. He didn't want her to be far away. He was terrified of what might happen if she was out of his sight. Or he would be, when he could feel again.

But then she threw one of those tan thighs over his lap and straddled him, filling his line of sight. He closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing. He didn't feel sexy in the slightest. He knew she was trying to help, but he wasn't—

But then she cupped his face with both hands and murmured his name. Not in the deep husk of passion like she had at other times. Her voice was a plea.

He made himself open his eyes. Without thought, his hands went to her thighs, holding her in place so she was safe.

She gazed down at him, all the love and concern and frustration rippling out of her like waves. "You are the best kind of man," she whispered. "The best I've known. Thank you for working so hard to keep me safe."

He snorted and broke the gaze, but his throat pinched. She wouldn't let his face go, so unless he wanted to overpower her, which he didn't have the heart to do, he was forced to look back to her eyes.

She was beautiful in ways that stole his breath. Leaned over him like that, staring her love, his fingers tightened on her thighs.

Then she leaned down and laid her lips on his neck. A gentle touch. A soft kiss. Not the raw, panting grasp she'd had earlier in the evening. Her arms slid around his shoulder and held him as she let her tongue and lips dance along his neck gently, slowly.

He dropped his head back again and she moved to his throat, then his jaw. "I love you," she whispered against the scruff on his jaw. "I love you. No matter what."

Dane sighed.