Opening the door, Mercy peeked her head around it. “Decent?”

He laughed. “Not remotely.”

She smiled at him, her green eyes twinkling as she closed and locked the door and then crossed to the sofa. “Liar. You’re too tired to get ready for bed, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” He patted the cushion next to him. “What’s wrong, Mercy?”

She sat beside him, curling her legs beneath her, her smile fading. “Brain’s racing.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No, you should go to sleep,” she said, but her eyes said differently, telegraphing a silent plea.

“If I do, then just cover me up with a blanket and leave me here. Wouldn’t be the first time I fell asleep on this sofa.” He lifted a brow. “You, too.”

“I did that, didn’t I? Just this morning. This day has been surreal. I hope Farrah at least can sleep.”

Rafe carefully rested his arm across the sofa back, not touching her, but issuing the invitation to come closer. To his relief, she did, snuggling into his side, her head on his chest. “You did good tonight, Mercy,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “You were so brave.”

“Thank you.” She sounded grimly determined. “That’s the plan.”

“Plan for what?”

“Being brave. Taking my life back. I’m tired of being afraid, of hiding. Of being alone because I don’t think anyone will want me.”

His heart played a staccato rhythm in his chest. I want you. He drew a breath, fighting the words back down. It wasn’t time. “You don’t have to be alone,” he finally said.

That clearly wasn’t the right thing to say, because she tensed.

Well, shit. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize, and if so, what for exactly. “I’m umf—” Whatever he was going to say was cut off when she grabbed his face and pulled him down, sealing her mouth over his. He grunted in surprise, then groaned, his body perking right up. Everywhere.

So much for exhaustion.

She was humming against his mouth, up on her knees now, so that she hovered over him, her mouth eating at his. She swung one leg over him, never breaking the kiss as she straddled him.

He groaned again, his hands full of her, all hot and incredibly energetic. Undulating against him until he could barely think. God. He shuddered, his hands sliding up and down her back, coming to rest on the perfect curve of her ass.

This was perfect.

She was perfect. And desperate, his mind whispered. She’s too desperate.

And she was desperate, he realized. Not in a good way. Stop this. Now.

With a resolve he never knew he possessed, he yanked away. “Wait,” he panted. “Stop.” Leaning his head into the cushion, he craned his neck to see her face.

Desperate was indeed an accurate description. Her eyes were wild. Unfocused.

Until she blinked, going from sixty to zero in that single blink. Her face flooded with color and she tried to get away.