Page 46 of Beautiful Killer

I had no choice but to let him go. He didn’t want comfort from me. I wasn’t his, and he wasn’t mine. And I got the feeling I just witnessed an intimate moment, a part of Zeke he didn’t share freely or at all. He was a SEAL. I couldn’t imagine what he’d been through while he served. Was that what was haunting him in his sleep?

I realized in that moment, I wanted to be there for him, that I wanted to be the one to comfort him when he was in pain. That I wanted to help him heal, help him work through whatever had torn that agonized sound from him. I stared across the room to the stairs, where he’d disappeared a few minutes ago, and something rose up in me—the impact of it devastating. I refused to name it, to put voice to it, because I didn’t want it to be true.

But it was there, hovering in my mind, refusing to go away.

I’m in love with Zeke.

* * *

He didn’t come back to bed, and I didn’t go back to sleep.

Instead, I spent the whole night fighting with myself. My head yelling at me to keep my butt in this bed. My heart yelling even louder for me to go to him. I’d been in a stalemate with myself until the sun finally came up.

A clang came from downstairs. Zeke was down there. I blinked up at the sky through that big window and gave myself a pep talk, or tried to. He hadn’t come back, which meant he didn’t want to talk about what happened and I needed to respect that, no matter how much I wanted to know more about what was bothering him.

“Not your place,” my head said.

“I want it to be,”my heart fired back.

I ignored them both, shoved back the covers, and dragged my tired body to the shower. Nausea hit as soon as I’d taken a couple of steps. Thankfully, this time I didn’t throw up. Must just be one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. At least I hoped it only lasted that long. I forced myself to get ready. Putting in effort was hard when you felt like crap, but I went the whole hog, hair, makeup, the works. I wanted to cover my scar as best I could. Zeke felt responsible for me, and seeing that scar wouldn’t help. I didn’t want him to see me as a victim and I didn’t want him blaming himself for not finding my attacker. Especially after last night.

I rummaged around in the bag Zeke had packed for me. He hadn’t done too bad. Though, the thought of him looking through my drawers and selecting my clothes and underwear gave me a weird feeling in my belly. Nope, not going there. I pulled on pale pink panties and a matching bra. He’d obviously taken the time to put sets together. Yep, another belly squirm, this one nothing to do with feeling sick. I found some jeans, one of my favorite pairs, and a long-sleeved blue top. It was soft, fitted, and a little worn. Not something I’d wear unless I planned on staying in. It was kind of perfect for a Sunday at home. Which this was, only it was Zeke’s home, and despite his assurances, I still wasn’t sure this was where he wanted me. The sooner I could go home, the better.

I took the stairs down to the lower level. Zeke was at the kitchen counter, holding a cup of coffee, and the mug paused just below his mouth when I walked down. Those dark eyes slid over me, taking in my hair, my face, my body from head to toe. I watched him reach for the counter, fingers curling around the edge as his eyes heated.

“I could get used to that,”my heart whispered.

“And then he’d leave,”my head snapped back.

My heart shut up.

“Morning,” I said when I reached the floor.

“Coffee?”

I thought about it, but my stomach protested instantly. “Do you have any tea?”

He shook his head.

“Water’s fine.”

“Still not well?” he asked, giving me another head to toe, but this one assessing.

I shrugged. “Just a little off. Better than yesterday.”

He dipped his chin, but didn’t say more.

An urge to walk to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and just hold him, be held in return, was so strong I actually took a step in his direction. I needed to go home. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Have you heard from Cage?”

“No. Why?”

His voice had gone deeper, had a little growl to it. I turned to him, and paused at the unhappy look on his face. Was he . . . was he actually jealous?

My heart, the ever-hopeful idiot, jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

My head rolled her eyes and pushed her over.

I was losing it!