The silence of the room wasn't empty; it was heavy with the rhythm of his breathing. She told herself she should be repulsed. She told herself she should be terrified of the man who had curated her life from the shadows. But the heat she knew he carried and the magnetic pull of his very presence was more exciting than her anger and supposed hatred for him. She couldn't get over him since the first day he'd come to her apartment to get his wallet back. That's how badly she was attracted to him. Almost unconsciously, her hand moved.
Her fingers trembled as they reached across the divide, hovering for a heartbeat before they finally made contact with the skin of his shoulder. He was burning hot, his skin smooth but stretched over muscle as hard as granite.
At the touch, Evan's breathing stilled. He didn't move, but she felt the sudden, electric tension coil through him.
"Rhoda," he rasped, his voice a low warning that sounded more like a plea.
"I'm cold," she whispered, though she was flushed with a feverish heat. "And I... I can't be alone on this side of the bed, Evan. Not tonight."
She didn't wait for him to agree. She slid across the silk, moving toward him until the front of her body pressed against his back. The contact was a shock to her system—the sheer solidity of him, the way he seemed to vibrate with a suppressed energy. She reached her arm around his waist, her hand splaying across the hard ridges of his stomach, and buried her face against the nape of his neck.
A low, guttural sound escaped his throat—part groan, part surrender.
Evan turned in her arms, his movements swift but uncharacteristically gentle. He pulled her under the duvet with him, his large frame enveloping her completely. One of his arms slid beneath her neck, while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest until there wasn't a whisper of air between them.
He smelled like safety and danger all at once.
"You shouldn't want this," he murmured into her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. "You should be running as far away from me as you can get."
"There's nowhere to run," she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her fingers tracing the scars she found there. "The world is full of lions, Evan. At least I know who you are."
He pulled her closer, his grip tightening as if he were trying to pull her inside his own heartbeat. He tucked her head under his chin, his hand moving to the small of her back, stroking the fabric of her shirt in a slow, possessive rhythm that began to lull her into a sense of peace she hadn't felt in a year.
"I've spent months watching you," he confessed, his voice a dark, velvety rumble against her temple. "I've memorized the way you breathe when you sleep, the way you tilt your head when you're thinking. But having you here... feeling you like this…l."
Rhoda didn't answer with words. She simply pressed closer, her legs tangling with his, seeking the warmth of his body as if it were the only light in a darkening world. The anger was still there, buried deep, but for tonight, it was drowned out by the overwhelming need to be held by the man who had stolen her life just so he could be the one to keep it.
Evan's lips brushed her forehead—a touch so light it was almost a ghost of a kiss—and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He didn't close his eyes; he remained vigilant, his body a living shield, but his hold on her was desperate.
As sleep finally began to pull at her, Rhoda felt the steady, powerful thrum of his heart against her ear. She wasn't choosing the right path, and she wasn't choosing a good man. She was choosing the ghost who loved her, and for the first time since the bank robbery, the shivering stopped.