Sheltered

by Jen Colly

  “Let me know if you find out anything else,” Rollin said.

  Ivan walked away, saying, “I’m done. There’s nothing else to find.”

  Rollin turned back for home. With the dress in one hand, he gripped the doorknob and…crashed straight into the door. He tried the knob again. Locked.

  Okay. Rollin took a centering breath and knocked on the outside of his own door, listening closely for any response from inside. Nothing. He knocked again.

  A neighbor happened to walk by, eyebrows raised at the odd sight he presented. Rollin smiled politely and gave her a small wave. She sent him another curious look before pulling out the key to her home. Rollin smiled again, waiting patiently for her to get inside.

  As soon as his neighbor’s door closed, Rollin knocked louder. “Bette? It’s Rollin. Let me in, please?”

  He heard muffled footsteps hurrying for the door, then the knob wiggled, but she didn’t open the door herself. Rollin entered and she jumped, clutching the sheet tighter to her chest.

  “You locked the door?”

  “Habit,” Bette said, her voice a shaky whisper. Her admission triggered a deep awareness in him. Letting him through that door had been a hurdle for her.

  “It’s a good habit,” Rollin said, hoping the praise might ease her nervousness. “I just didn’t expect it.”

  God, she was scared. Hours ago, he’d been a hero in her eyes, and here, in this moment, something about him had brought back her fear. Bette bit her lip when it quivered, her uncertain gaze shifting beyond him to the door, and that’s when he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Maybe he wasn’t the problem.

  Rollin locked the door, and when he looked at her, her shoulders noticeably sagged in relief. Nothing in Balinese was familiar to her, and to ask her to trust that the entire city would never harm her was unreasonable. Fear of the unknown was logical, especially after what she’d been through.

  To test his theory and make certain she had no fear of him in particular, he walked straight toward her, coming much closer than necessary. She didn’t shy away, but instead watched him with open curiosity.

  He awkwardly offered her the plastic-covered dress draped over his arm, and still she seemed to have no reservations about his nearness.

  Bette accepted the gown with her free hand, her fingers brushing over his arm, sliding down his forearm as she scooped up the dress. Her touch wasn’t brief or platonic, but sensual, lingering as if they’d once been intimate. In a way, they had.

  For the longest time she was silent, staring down at the dress. Her eyebrows twitched here and there, her facial features changing as if somewhere in her head she was carrying on a full conversation with herself.

  “Is it okay?” he asked, his voice pulling her out of wherever she’d gone. When she surfaced, meeting his gaze fully, she seemed different. Like she’d reset her emotions.

  “Your friend, she likes flowers?” she asked. “How…sweet.”

  “I’m sorry, she must have thought—”

  “That I was young, innocent?” Bette said boldly. “I assure you I’m neither.”

  A shiver raced up Rollin’s spine at the sound of her sultry voice. Last night she’d only spoken to him in panicked cries and broken whispers. He’d been undone then, but now? Rollin didn’t have to look in a mirror to know his cheeks had flushed. He could feel the heat spreading over his skin at her words.

  Moving valiantly beyond his discomfort, he said, “At least it’s something. I wanted you to pick out your own gown, but I couldn’t take you shopping in my bed sheet.”

  “Couldn’t you?” she asked sweetly.

  For a moment, he gaped at her, contemplating her willingness to traipse about the city in a sheet. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe I am. A little,” she said, making a poor attempt at suppressing her smile.

  Rollin laughed, one corner of his lips twitching up. “Enough of that. Get dressed. I’m taking you shopping.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, but I couldn’t impose.”

  “Are you passing through Balinese?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to dig for a little information. “Or do you plan on staying here for any length of time?”

  “Rollin?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Is that an invitation?”

  “You’re welcome here as long as you like, but I think you need to stay at least for a few days, to be certain you’ve recovered.” He crossed his arms over his chest, easily resuming his trademark stubborn and intimidating stance. Rollin belatedly thought better of it and uncrossed his arms, but she didn’t seem to notice either way. She looked up at him with such trust and hope and— Damn, she had the most beautifully wide, expressive eyes.

  “I can stay?”

  “Of course you can stay,” he said, then pointed to the dress on her arm. “But you can’t wear the same thing every night.”

  “Ah. I see your point,” Bette said, cutting off her small smile by tucking her bottom lip in and catching it between her teeth. Rollin didn’t know her well enough to interpret that quirk. Amusement? Nervousness?

  Hugging the dress close, she turned and walked into his bedroom with a regal grace, the sheet dragging behind her like the tail of a gown. Rollin rubbed his hand over the back of his head as he stared at his closed bedroom door. Of all the probable situations a Guardian might find himself in, this was never on the list. Not that anything could have prepared him for taking home a female he’d never met.

  After only a few moments, a knock came from inside his bedroom. Before he could open his mouth to ask what was wrong, she called out to him, nervousness threading through her voice, “Rollin? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” he said loudly. That she needed reassuring to open a door, even in the safety of his home, was concerning.

  Bette stepped from his bedroom and ran her hands over the skirt, smoothing the top layer over and over again. She wasn’t comfortable in this dress, and he could see why. It fit poorly. The bodice was too tight, the skirt too long, and on top of it all, this couldn’t possibly be something she’d choose on her own.

  “Wow,” Rollin said, an amused smile playing across his lips. The white dress was covered with a sheer layer of delicate, embroidered flowers, with a wide, pale-pink sash at the waist. “Pink on white is not for you.”

  Her gaze snapped back to his and her jaw dropped slightly. “No, it’s lovely.”

  Interesting. She was clearly lying about the gown, and she’d done the same subtle little jaw drop when she’d said there was a demon in the woods. Almost like her mind had to process the lie before she spoke. So there wasn’t a demon. He should be relieved.

  Rollin smiled, keeping his tone light and playful as he called her out. “Liar.”

  “I…well, it’s not ideal.”

  “It’s a temporary fix. If you’re okay out here alone, I’ll change quick and we can go.” Rollin started past her, but didn’t make it two steps. Her bare toes poked from beneath her gown. “I’m sorry, I never thought to ask her to get you shoes. We’ll pick some out today, but until then…”

  “I don’t need shoes,” Bette insisted.

  “Your feet have only just healed,” he said, and when she didn’t instantly give in, he provided another excuse for her to cover her feet. “The floors are cold and we’ll be walking a good distance.”

  “None of which are life-threatening,” she said with a small smile, her head tipping slightly to her right shoulder. She’d told the truth. It wasn’t in the gesture alone, but in the way she relaxed as she spoke, the sincerity in her voice. “For the kindness you’re showing me, I would gladly go as I am.”

  Rollin was fairly certain he was in shock. Without even a pouting lip, she was willing to walk on a cold floor where others would most definitely see her without shoes. How could one woman hide such strength and characte
r beneath her femininity, and yet know fear so intimately? Bette was a mystery, and one he intended to solve.

  Chapter 9

  Balinese

  When Rollin disappeared into his bathroom, Bette hurried over and threw her weight against the door, unlocked the knob, then locked it again. Though she had little faith in a single lock, she was relieved to find it remained set even as she jiggled the knob.

  She had to regain control of herself. This wasn’t home. There was no one lurking outside Rollin’s door, waiting to hurt her. No soft knocking. No sinister laughing outside the door. Still…

  “They can’t hurt me here,” she whispered, concentrating on the words and on her voice as she backed away from the door.

  Balinese was different. It had to be. The lord here was said to be fair, the people kind, accepting even criminals as long as they didn’t regress. Though, to be fair, she hadn’t heard anything recent about the city in well over a decade. Maybe two, come to think of it.

  After her father had stopped traversing between cities, his desire to maintain connections dwindled. Balinese could truly have slipped into the same debauchery that riddled Valenna. Unknowingly, she could have leaped from the frying pan and into the fire.

  Bette sat down on the couch, sinking deeper than she’d expected. With a squeak, she threw her arms out to catch herself. It didn’t help. The brown leather pulled her down, cocooned her. It was a strange sensation she didn’t care for, but this was the best seat to watch both the door and the bedroom. She tried to angle her body slightly, to cross her ankles and assume a ladylike appearance. Impossible. Scooting forward, she perched on the edge of the cushion, curling her arm over the side of the couch to keep from slipping back.

  The worn, discolored leather drew her focus. She curled her toes, noticing for the first time that the carpet was thin. The raised, angular pattern of the burgundy chair his brother had been draped over was practically non-existent in the areas a body would rest. She gasped, quickly covering her mouth.

  “Oh, my.” Was he poor?

  Then a sobering thought hit her. Did it matter? Rollin could be penniless, but she was homeless. This home might not be perfect, but the meager shelter came with a kind, considerate Guardian. She would adjust her lifestyle, her way of thinking, because if Rollin slipped through her fingers, so did her life. Her body felt rejuvenated, refreshed, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that a simple change in location and nourishment would quell the deadly call.

  Rollin turned on the shower, the spray sounding excessively loud, but then, his home was small. Her presence must have significantly disrupted his life. How could it not? She’d slept the entire day in his bed, leaving him to sleep where? Bette glanced down at the seat beside her. The couch would be the only place, and it was only three cushions long. He couldn’t possibly fit.

  Not a single grievance had slipped past his lips. He hadn’t acted inconvenienced in the least, and to make matters worse, he hadn’t tried to join her in bed. The one time she didn’t need a gentleman, she’d gotten one. Understanding. Patient. Giving. He was a saint.

  Her life depended on studying Rollin and discovering what spurred his desires, because if she didn’t have a thread of hope, she might not be able to resist the call of the sun when it rose in nine short hours.

  Nine hours. Oh, what was she thinking? Bette groaned, turning to once again watch the entry door. It was insane to throw her hopes on a stranger and assume a man she’d never met would be the solution to her very serious, very personal problem. She was insane. How could any man, other than her true mate, possibly counter the call of the sun by the end of the night? It simply didn’t fall within the realm of possibilities. When dawn broke, the sun would call, and if her will was weak enough, she would answer.

  “Bette?” Rollin’s voice broke through her thoughts and she jumped, his presence startling her. Wearing a maroon shirt and a pair of jeans, he stood in the doorway to his bedroom pushing his long sleeves up to his elbows. “You okay?”

  She nodded. Rollin stepped into the living room, looking large within his small home. He ruffled his hair, still damp from the shower, and smiled at her. It was sort of a lopsided, hesitant smile.

  Bette drew in a steadying breath. She could do this. She’d already played the sultry woman wrapped in a bed sheet, and he’d been receptive. All she had to do was continue the flirtation. Though it was difficult to exude confidence in this sweet, youthful gown.

  “Are you a breakfast person?”

  “I…” She considered his question before finally answering. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “It’s never been my habit to eat when I first wake.” She mulled over the possibility yet again, then as her stomach rumbled, she looked up at him. “I think I could become a breakfast person.”

  Rollin laughed. “Then breakfast it is.”

  She climbed from her awkwardly seated position, and offered her hand to him. Rollin lifted an eyebrow at the gesture, but quickly recognized what she expected, taking her hand and tucking it under his elbow. He led her to his kitchen and pulled a stool from beneath the counter that, in the barest definition, divided the kitchen from the living room.

  Facing the kitchen, she gripped the counter to steady her balance as she adjusted her position on the stool. The yellow countertop beneath her fingers was chipped, the top layer revealing the wood beneath. Did he not see these imperfections? She glanced up to see him open the refrigerator door and reach inside. For some reason, Bette doubted he saw the countertop as flawed.

  “It’s only me here. I don’t keep much on hand,” he said, turning from the refrigerator with a bowl in his hand.

  He set it on the counter before her, and four peeled hard-boiled eggs rolled around inside long after the bowl stopped moving. Bette looked from the bowl to him. This didn’t make sense. How was she to eat an egg with no eggcup or spoon?

  The dilemma didn’t register to Rollin. He grabbed an egg from the bowl and took a bite, then turned to open a cupboard door and shuffled around several boxes and tins. Eggs were a perishable luxury she hadn’t had in years, and after only a short moment of debating, her hunger won out.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  Rollin continued to search the cupboard with one hand, now pulling boxes out and setting them on the counter to see behind them. “I thought I had an Earl Grey hidden…somewhere.”

  “Hidden?” she asked, the oddity striking her. “You hide your tea?”

  “This one I did.” He reached for the top shelf now, removing more boxes. There was something strangely intimate about this overgrown man rummaging around to find something for her. “I wasn’t paying attention when I bought it and didn’t realize it was black tea. I’m sort of off caffeine.”

  “So, no coffee?”

  Giving up his search, he chose a yellow box, holding it against his chest as he turned to face her. The left corner of his lips twitched slightly, then he said, “No, no coffee.”

  “Coffee makes you sad. Why?” She never bothered to process the thought that crossed her mind. The words escaped, hanging between them.

  He seemed stunned as he stared at her, and for a moment she wondered if he would recover. Then, as if he’d suddenly realized he hadn’t answered her, Rollin said, “Sorry, but only one other person can read me the way you just did.”

  “Did I?” Bette intended to look away from him, but the feat proved impossible. It had been a good long while since she’d been among people. “Should I not be so personal?”

  “No, it’s fine. I didn’t expect it,” he said, then glanced around the room as if searching for the answer. “I miss coffee, that’s all.”

  Sending him an encouraging smile, she said, “Then do have some.”

  “Can’t. A friend of mine grudgingly stopped drinking coffee because she’s pregnant. I prom
ised I would do the same. We cut caffeine together,” he said, but he seemed disheartened as he shifted his hold on the yellow box.

  “You’re the moral compass?” By the look in his eyes when they swiftly met hers, she had the sense she’d read him again.

  “Yeah, something like that.” He tapped the box against the palm of his hand twice, then presented the front of it to her. “Closest thing I have to caffeine is lemon ginseng.”

  She’d made him uncomfortable, and that was the last thing she wanted. Agreeing to the tea would give him a task, a distraction, and she feared they could both use a break from her bungling attempt at conversation. “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

  Rollin functioned with intent in the kitchen, and watching him was hypnotic. He was at ease in his small kitchen, heating the water on the tiny stove, placing the teabags in two mismatched mugs. It was as if he’d done this a thousand times without giving his actions any thought.

  After setting down the steaming mugs, Rollin sat across from her, the thick mug he held looking smaller in his large hands. While she sipped the piping-hot tea, she watched him, noticed his fingers playing over the mug he never brought to his lips. He was thinking something over. Something important.

  Halfway through her tea, his voice broke through the silence surrounding them. “Why were you out there alone?”

  Biting her lip, she stared into her tea. She couldn’t answer him. Bette wanted to be honest, to give as much of herself as possible, but explaining why she’d been out in the night alone was a subject too close to her rapidly approaching dawn deadline. If she slipped up, said the wrong thing, he might become suspicious that what she’d truly fled from was the sun. As much as she’d like to confide this secret, it was a surefire way to lose her chance with Rollin.

  “That’s not the right question,” she whispered to the remaining tea in her mug.