Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (21 page)

As suddenly as it had begun, her crying ceased, and she took a deep breath. The silence in the apartment was punctuated only by her soft sniffles.

“I’ll get you a tissue.”

He went to the bathroom to grab a handful and brought them to her. Sammi wouldn’t meet his eyes as she took them but her face was red and blotchy, her eyes and lips puffy, and he went to the window, giving her his back and some privacy to clean herself up.

“Sorry.”

Her hoarse whisper made fury flame in his chest, but it wasn’t for her. He whirled to face her, and her bloodshot, puffy-lidded brown eyes widened in surprise and she cowered slightly against the cushions.

“
You’re
sorry? Why the fuck should
you
be sorry? You didn’t ask for any of that bullshit to happen to you. You didn’t do anything wrong, Sammi. Not a goddamn thing. So don’t you ever be fuckin’ sorry.”

“I’m s—” she started, then bit her lip, catching herself.

Cillian shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a deep breath.
Chill out. You’re scaring her.
He crossed the room back to the couch and sat down hard.

“I didn’t mean to sound like I was pissed at you. How could I be? It wasn’t your fault. I’m disgusted by what that piece-a shit did to you. Bad as this is gonna sound? I wish I could fuckin’ shoot him. I don’t want you apologizin’ for anything. Ever. Got it?”

Sammi lowered her eyes but bobbed her head. He laid a hand on her ankle and she flinched. He kept his hand where it was, his fingers curling around her leg.

“And
this
stops now. I mean it.” Sammi didn’t respond, so he tightened his grip on her ankle ever so slightly, to get her attention and let her know how serious he was. “I’m not kiddin’, Sam. Promise me.”

Sammi stared at his hand, tears pooling in her eyes. He reached out and tilted her chin up with his index finger until she met his gaze.

“Sammi.”

She inhaled deeply. “I promise.”

He trusted it and nodded. As though it had a mind of his own, his hand moved to smooth her hair back away from her face. It came so naturally to him, so automatically.

“Thank you.” He dropped his hand. “I just want you to know, I’m not in the habit of tellin’ people what they can and can’t do. But as long as we’re friends I ain’t lettin’ you hurt yourself. Not on my watch.”

With Lee, no one had been smart enough or unselfish enough to see the signs until it was too late, and the pressure of the guilt Cillian carried in his chest would haunt him for the rest of his life.

I refuse—I fucking
refuse
—to let that happen again.

“Cillian?”

Her voice was so small, so lost. It twisted his heart. “Yeah?”

“Can I—would you—”

“Anything, Sam. What do you need?”

“Hold me?” she whispered, and he knew it took every ounce of her courage to issue that request. It broke his already broken heart.

He shoved a cushion behind him and leaned back, opening his arms. “Come here.”

She slowly crawled toward him and he pulled her in close to his chest. Her body tensed automatically under his touch but he held on until finally, she relaxed, her head resting against his chest and nestling under his chin.

“It’s gonna be all right. I’m here and I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

She said nothing, but that was okay. He wound a lock of her long, thick hair around his finger. It felt like silk. He scratched gently against her scalp and massaged the back of her neck until her body relaxed against him completely. After another long moment, he realized she’d fallen asleep against him.

He didn’t want to move, ever. He managed to wedge his hand into his back pocket and pull out his phone without disturbing her. One-handed, he quickly typed a message out to Baz.

CILLIAN:
Not coming back tonight. Lock up for me. Spare keys are in my top desk drawer. If you lose them I will end you.

BAZ:
Roger that. Hope all is well. See you in the morning.

He silenced his phone, tossing it on the cushion beside him, and reached for the soft, cream-colored throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. With minimal jostling he unfolded the blanket and draped it over her.

You’re gonna be okay, Sammi Carnevale. I’m gonna make sure of it.

Sammi’s neck and shoulder ached, and the noise of what sounded like a tiny, incessant motor boat engine rumbled in her ear. She cracked one eye open. It was still dark.

Rocky perched on the back of the sofa, his neck craning down to sniff her and nuzzle her cheek with his cold, wet nose. He nipped her earlobe lightly with his sharp teeth—his standard good morning routine that signaled he was ready for breakfast. The digital display on the cable box said it was a quarter to five.

The steady beat of Cillian’s heart pulsed below her ear through his warm chest, his breathing deep and even. One arm wrapped around her, the other pillowing his head. Her throw blanket was draped over them both.

He slept here all night—with me.

She shooed Rocky away and tried to gently disentangle herself from Cillian, but he made a deep rumbling noise in his chest, and his arms tightened around her and gathered her in close. She leaned into him, her forehead against the side of his neck, and inhaled his scent. A sense of safety, security like she’d never known settled over her. His arms around her made her feel untouchable.

For a moment she dozed off again, but woke fifteen minutes later to Rocky’s even louder purring. He was now along her side, one paw lightly batting her cheek before he licked the tip of her nose. Sammi peered at him with one eye, then reached up to scratch him behind the ears.

“You know what you’re doing,” she muttered. “You want breakfast. What a shock.”

Cillian stirred at the sound of her voice, noticing Rocky nose-to-nose with her and chuckled, his voice deepened by the early hour. Rocky stretched his neck to sniff at Cillian’s face, and he reached up to scratch the cat below the chin.

“Good morning.” Sammi lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing. Everything that had happened last night hung unspoken in the air, like bubbles waiting to be popped.
What do I say? What can I say?
She started when she felt the pressure of his hand on her back, rubbing gently.

“Good morning.”

She sighed reluctantly. “I gotta start getting ready for work.”

“It’s all right. I gotta get going, too. I’m usually up running by now.”

Nice one, Samantha. He missed training for you.
“Sorry. I made you miss your workout.”

“You didn’t make me miss anything.” Cillian sat up slowly so as not to jostle her and Sammi scooted back to give him room. “I wanted to stay with you.”

A little glowing warmth filled her chest. “Can I make you some coffee? Breakfast?”

“Actually, just some water would be great.”

Sammi got off the couch to bring him a bottle of water, then fed Rocky, who was growing increasingly impatient. She went back into the living room as Cillian finished draining the bottle, his eyes on her.

“Thanks for dinner last night.”

Sammi sighed and toyed with a loose thread on her sweatshirt. “You’re welcome. Um. Thanks for staying with me. Last night…that wasn’t what I had planned for us. Sorry I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t. You couldn’t.”

Sammi stared up at him, biting her lip.
God, what does he think of me now?
Her skin warmed and flushed with humiliation, and tears stung her eyes. That you’re a fucking basket case. What the hell do you think?

As if he could read her thoughts, Cillian reached out and took her hand, pulling her close to slip his arms around her. He didn’t say anything else, and that was okay with her. She leaned her cheek against his chest and tightened her arms around him, closing her eyes.

They flew open a moment later when she felt something brush the top of her head.
Did he just kiss me?

His hand moved from her back to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. One corner of his mouth turned up, his eyes the color of a storm but as calm and kind as a sunny day.

“I better get goin’. I’ll call you later.”

She nodded silently and dropped her arms from his waist as he stepped away. Wordlessly, she watched as he unlocked her three locks and slipped out the door, feeling a little empty now that he was gone. She wondered if he would actually call.

Would you blame him if he didn’t?

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Jazz looked up from the kitchen counter, her eyes wide with alarm, her hands buried to the wrist in bread dough. There were a dozen freshly baked loaves lined up neatly on the counter next to the oven.

Sammi hadn’t meant to burst through the back door of the café so violently. “Sorry.”

Jazz raised a brow. “You look awful. Are you all right? Have you been crying? You’re all…puffy.”

Sammi simultaneously touched an eyelid and her lips with both hands. “I’m—I don’t know what I am. Last night was…crazy.”

“Why?” Jazz was immediately alert, her tone sharp, her eyes fixed on Sammi. “Did he try to—”

“No.” Sammi shook her head. “He was great. I—I told him. Everything.”

“Oh.” Jazz sat down on her stool. “How—how’d that go? Why did you tell him?”

Sammi bit her lip; nobody—well, no one except for Cillian, now—knew that she cut herself. She didn’t feel like going there with Jazz.
Not today.
“He knows that something’s been wrong with me for a while now. I had a panic attack at the gym the other night.”

“The night those assholes messed with you.”

“No. I mean, yes. But there was another time. When I left my meds at the gym? We were going through some self-defense drills for this thing he wants to do and this one move—it just reminded me…Anyway, I ended up telling him.” She needed to distract herself, so she grabbed a ball of dough from Jazz and plopped it on the counter.

“And?”

“I expected him to haul ass out of my place, but he stayed. He stayed…all night.” She blushed a little, sprinkling flour before turning the dough over.

Jazz’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up almost off her forehead.
“Oh, really?”

“Not like that. He comforted me, and then I fell asleep, and I guess he did too. We just stayed on the couch.”

“Oh.” Jazz pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That’s kinda sweet. Does he know about the trial?”

“I didn’t go that far. I thought we should just start with the basics. Shit, I don’t even know how I feel about that subpoena.” Sammi punched the dough, stretched it, folded it, and slammed it back over.

“That’s fine. You told him enough for one night.” She tilted her head. “So. You told him all about you, and he was sweet, and he stayed the night. But you still look sad. What’s the problem?”

Sammi frowned, leaving the abused ball of dough lying limp on the counter. “He’s a nice guy. He wouldn’t leave a girl by herself when she’s a mess. But I just don’t see how or why he’d want to burden himself with someone else’s issues when he’s got plenty of his own. I’m damaged goods.”

“Stop it.” Jazz frowned and pointed a finger at her. “You’re not damaged goods. You’re…rebuilding. That shit takes time, so don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re intelligent, talented, a loyal friend. He’d be an idiot not to see those things. Besides, he seems really thoughtful and nice. Don’t sell yourself or him short, and don’t be unfair—you don’t know what he’s thinking right now.”

Sammi shrugged and jabbed a finger into the dough. “It’s out of my control at this point. I just...I like him. I wish I didn’t.”

“It’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.” Jazz reached out and pulled Sammi into a brief hug. “Now, we better get our shit together before customers start showing up. Or your parents.”

Sammi shuddered, instantly picturing her father’s face turning red as he bellowed at her in Italian. She climbed off her stool and hurried toward the front. “I’m on it.”

The day flew by, thanks to the many customers that traipsed in and out. It was a typical for a Friday, with people taking the day or a half-day from work, college students with morning classes and the whole afternoon free to study.