Night Is Darkest Jayne Rylon (bookreader .TXT) 📖

He set the gun on the nightstand after verifying it hadn’t been loaded. Thank God. For a moment he’d been afraid she intended to harm herself. Why else did someone fall asleep with a gun in their hand?

The fog began to clear from her dazed expression as he crawled across the mattress to gather her into his arms. For several minutes, she allowed him to rock her while he whispered calming nonsense in her ear. The close contact soothed his jangled nerves. He’d missed touching her after just one tiny taste of ambrosia.

Then, she asked, “What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Did something else happen?”

He hated the alarm in her voice and the tension that snapped into her muscles.

“Nothing like that, sweetheart.” He continued to rub her back, more for himself than her at this point. “I came to install your call monitor.”

“Oh.” Her arms popped up, shoving until she dislodged his hold, then she stumbled off the far side of the bed.

Goddamn, he’d been here less than ten minutes and he’d said the wrong thing already.

Lacey bolted in an attempt to escape to the bathroom, but her unsteady legs didn’t quite hold her and she stumbled. She would have fallen if he hadn’t rushed to her side to support her. In the dim light her cheeks were so pale they practically glowed.

“When’s the last time you had something to eat, Lace?” As if on cue, her stomach growled.

“Does coffee count?” She grimaced.

“Hell, no. Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll fix you up a little dinner and we can talk. There are a few things I need to tell you.” He tucked a stray strand of her glossy walnut hair behind her ear while he hoped she’d give him a chance to make things right.

“I need a minute to freshen up first.” Lacey tried a tentative smile to persuade Tyler to buy her chipper facade but she doubted it fooled him for a second.

“You sure you’re okay? Were you having the same nightmare as the other night?”

Of course I’m not okay, people! “It was nothing. I’m good now. Go ahead, I’ll be right down.” Before he could argue, she slipped into the bathroom and locked the door.

She stared at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman looking back. She worked a comb through her tangles, brushed her teeth and then splashed cool water on her face in an unsuccessful attempt to eliminate some of the puffiness. Not that she gave a shit what the jerk in her kitchen thought of her. After all, he’d left her flat when she needed him most only to return on official business.

Yeah, right.

She peeked at the clock. 8 p.m. She estimated she’d slept about five hours. Suddenly, she felt wide awake. What had she been thinking, luxuriating in the security of Tyler’s arms? By now she should know the only person she could count on was herself.

Huffing out a sigh, she trudged down the stairs as a lump of dread settled in her throat when she anticipated their awkward conversation. Halfway there, she heard the microwave beep. Even nuking pushed the limits of Ty’s dreadful culinary abilities. Against her will, a tiny smirk lifted the corners of her mouth as she watched him grab two bowls, some spoons and napkins from around the kitchen as though it were his own. Dark jeans hugged his lean thighs and tight ass. A snug burgundy T-shirt layered over a long sleeve white thermal completed his casual ensemble.

He looked good enough to eat.

“Why am I not surprised?” She wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated sniff. Maybe she could force their interactions back into friendship territory. “Smells like world renowned Chef Boyardee. Aren’t we a little too old for this stuff?”

The radiant grin he flashed in her direction threw her off balance as her stomach flip-flopped. And not because of the aroma of their supper. Ty slid a stool out from beneath the butcher-block island then patted the cushion. “Hop up. You’re never too old for Spaghetti-O’s. Certainly not at twenty-three. Besides, why mess with perfection?”

They settled into a companionable silence filled only with the soft clinking of their spoons and her reminiscence. The taste of their favorite teenaged meal comforted her.

“I didn’t realize we had these in the pantry. The can was probably ten years old at least.”

“I brought them with me, little one.”

His thoughtfulness astounded her though it shouldn’t have been surprising. Tyler had always possessed an intrinsic empathy that made him the natural support system of their group.

“Do you remember how we’d fight over who got the most meatballs? I miss the days when that was the most pressing thing on our minds.”

He blanketed her hand with his before giving it a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t count them out like Rob used to but I eyeballed it and it was pretty close.”

Derailing thoughts kept her from returning his levity. Thinking back, she supposed they’d all had their roles. Tyler, the shoulder to cry on. Mason, the protector. Rob, the responsible peacekeeper. And her… Well, she wasn’t quite sure how she fit in, unless it was as the pain in the ass rebellious little sister.

Not exactly a flattering thought.

She pushed the half empty bowl away from her as her appetite disintegrated.

Palms outward, Ty raised his hands to shoulder height. “Hey, come on. I only stole a couple extra out of your dish. I swear.”

The wounded puppy dog look he shot from under his long ebony lashes penetrated her gloom.

“No worries. Here, take the rest.” She noticed for the first time that his bowl had been scraped clean.

Uncharacteristic lines etched his brow. “Are you sure you’re finished? You didn’t eat very much.”

“Please, stop worrying.” Lacey reached out to swipe a dot of sauce from the corner of his mouth but he caught her wrist and licked the dab from her finger before she could evade him.

Her eyelids fluttered as she battled the rush of excitement incited by the swipe of