I worked to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. “My statement?”

He nodded once. The gesture was violent.

“I don’t need to make a statement,” I whined. “Nothing happened.”

Panic had begun crawling up my throat. The thought of police coming here, into my beautiful bakery, my safe space, forcing me to talk about what I was trying my best to repress... Forcing all the attention on me, then onto Nathan whose mother would make it her life’s mission to ruin me if I marred her perfect son’s perfect reputation any further made me want to faint.

“Those are your options,” Rowan shrugged, not taking his eyes off me. “Either you take off your sweater, or I get the cops down here.”

“This is insane,” I hissed. “You can’t march in here and give me ultimatums.”

Rowan didn’t say anything. He just kept staring.

He wasn’t touching me or restraining me in any way. I was well within my power to turn around and walk away. There was a whole bakery of people within yelling distance, my best friend being one of them. And Tina, I knew, would not hesitate to go head-to-head with Rowan if she thought I was being threatened in any way.

But I wasn’t being threatened.

That I knew.

In spite of his anger—which had become a physical thing—in spite of our huge size discrepancy, even in spite of his commands, I knew that Rowan would not hurt me. This thought did not have evidence to back it up, yet I knew it just the same.

“If I take off my sweater, you’re not allowed to call the police,” I informed him for reasons unknown.

Rowan’s jaw stiffened, and there was a long pause before he finally nodded.

I slowly took off my sweater, bunching it in my hands, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable and small under his gaze.

What I was expecting when he saw the bruises, I didn’t know. Maybe some kind of outburst. Swearing. More of the glowering, the glittering fury. But none of that came.

Instead, an impossibly gentle, barely there touch ghosted over the skin of my upper arms.

My body electrified under that touch. I was frozen as he delicately trailed the spots where Nathan had grabbed me.

One of those fingers found their way to my chin, tilting it upward so I was no longer staring at the sweater bunched in my hands. My eyes got lost in his.

“Tell me what happened, cupcake,” he murmured softly.

Not that furious soft like before. Just plain soft.

He called me cupcake.

His fingers were still brushing my upper arms. His eyes were melty, warm… safe.

There was no other option but to tell him everything that had happened.

Those eyes didn’t stay soft once I explained everything. Actually, they hardened the second I said Nathan was inside my house when I got home, then turned to stone when I said the rest.

But his hands stayed on me. The grip never tightened. Not even a little. His fury did not leech onto my skin.