Page 17 of Merciless King

I heard him follow me into the kitchen but kept my back to him, working at cooling my burning cheeks.

“You want me to get someone to come over so you’re not alone with me? If one on one makes you uncomfortable.”

“No,” I said too loud. God, what he must think of me. I made myself turn and face him. “No,” I said again, quieter this time. “Van, you…you saved my life, and last night…I should be thanking you, not—”

“Don’t need to thank me, London. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and if being around me makes shit harder, I’ll do what I can to make it easier.”

I blinked over at him, at his fierce expression. Floored by the intensity of that declaration. “I feel more at ease with you than I do with anyone else…well, except for Mrs. Charmers who lives two doors down. But she’s eighty and about as intimidating as a sleeping kitten.”

His strong throat worked, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down in a way that was mesmerizing. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“But you find me intimidating?” he said.

I waved my hand at him, indicating all that was standing in front of me. “Have you looked at you?”

Nope, I had literally no control over what came out of my damn mouth.

His lips tipped up on one side and my knees went a little weak. My face went hot again, and I spun away to finish making the drinks.

I heard his boots on the hardwood floor, moving closer, and I forced myself to remain still, not to react. It wasn’t easy.

“I’m sorry, London,” he said. “For not believing you. For turning you away when you came to me for help.”

The sincerity in his deep gravelly voice had tingles dancing across my skin. I turned to face him again, his coffee in my hand. He was a lot closer, only a couple of feet away, and I had to tilt my head way back to look up at him. “Please, you don’t need to apologize. I know how it sounded. Even the police thought I was imagining it.”

His gaze moved over my face, lingered on my lips, and his hand lifted like he was going to touch me. I wanted him to, but without my say-so, my own hand extended and I shoved his mug at him. “Here’s your drink.” But I did it with so much force it sloshed over the edge and scalding hot coffee splashed his shirt and him. A lot of it.

He hissed, grabbed the mug off me, quickly put it on the counter, and reached back to yank his shirt off over his head.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry!” I spun away, grabbed a dish towel, ran it under cold water and spun back, slapping it on his stomach where he got the worst of it. “I’ve burnt you.”

Van went still, the room going completely silent.

I blinked down at my hands, one holding a wet dishtowel to his incredibly ripped, golden-skinned abs, the other pressed to that hot bare skin at his waist. Skin to skin. Mine against his. I felt his stomach tighten, the corrugations of his abdominal muscles hardening beneath my palm and my now trembling fingers.

His hand dropped to cover mine and I jerked back.

“I’m so sorry, I, um…I’ll let you, ah…do that…” My back collided with the counter and I winced in pain.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Go pack a bag, sweetheart. I’m taking you home with me.”

My head jerked back and my mouth fell open. “What?”

“Until we get this guy, you’re staying with me.”

“But…hang on a minute—”

“You got somewhere else to go? Someone else to come stay here?”

I snapped my mouth shut, which was suddenly dry. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I can’t ask you to do that for me.” My pulse sped faster, my hands getting clammy. “I’m not your responsibility. You don’t owe me anything. Taking me into your home…that’s, that’s too much. The police might do something now, after what happened at the shop…”

“You didn’t ask and I’m not offering. I’m telling.”

I stared at him in shock.

“You’re coming to my apartment so I can goddamn sleep without worrying that you’re okay. I’m not just doing it for you, London. I’m doing it for me as well. Understand?”