“Here,” I said, wanting to do something to disrupt the panic that seemed to be growing by the second.

She took the water from my hands, swished some around in her mouth, spit in the sink, and then took three long swallows.

“Now this,” I said, handing her the whisky glass.

She brought it to her face and then recoiled.

“What?” I asked.

“It smells like your father,” she whispered.

Her voice was quiet but not emotional. It didn’t matter, though. That need to protect her, even from a drink, was undeniable.

I took the glass and came back with vodka.

“I don’t want anything,” she said, looking at the glass like it was poison.

I kept my hand out. “Drink,” I said.

She did and scrunched up her face when the liquid hit her tongue.

It was fucking adorable, and a barrage of feelings I didn’t have the capacity to deal with hit me all at once.

I sure as fuck didn’t understand them and certainly couldn’t express them.

But what I could do was take care of her.

So I would do exactly that.

She didn’t react when I pulled the buttons on her shirt open one by one.

The fabric was soft, but not out of quality.

Instead, it was soft because it was so worn, and after I pulled it off of her shoulders, I ripped it in half.

A slight tilt of the head was her only reaction.

I squatted down in front of her and pulled her shoes off, one foot, then the other.

They weren’t those worn shoes that I hated so much. But another thought, one I hated even more, filled my brain.

“Are these a gift from Todd?” I asked, not knowing what my reaction would be if her answer was yes.

She laughed. “No. My mother,” she whispered.

Satisfactory, I supposed, though I sensed Kayla didn’t want to talk about it more.

So I refocused on my task and pulled those hated slacks off her body.

“I suppose you’re going to ruin those too?” she said.

“Yeah,” I responded before I threw them in the small wastebasket in the bathroom.

Then looked at Kayla, who stood there in her cheap, sensible underwear.

My heart flipped, the relief hitting me like a ton of bricks.

You almost lost her.

The shock of that realization hit me again, even though I had already known it to be true.

But I hadn’t lost her.

That was the important thing.

And I wouldn’t ever risk her again.

Still, I didn’t move immediately. Instead, I reflected on how this moment was the same, yet so different.

The underlying tension that was always there—her fear, my need for control—was still present.

So was the explosive attraction, something I still hadn’t managed to wrap my head around.

There was also a familiarity—an intimacy—that I found alienating, and that I craved.