“You kicking me out?”
“No.” As if. “Of course, I’m not. But you have a job to return to.”
“You’re tired. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“No,” she said fiercely. “Now. I have to know.”
“What happens now? I don’t know how this works. Are we going to continue to be with each other? What if you find someone new? What if—”
“Hush,” he told her firmly. “There is no one else.”
She growled in frustration then climbed off him.
“Where are you going?”
“I need some coffee.” She stomped naked into the kitchen, aware of him following her. He was silent as she made them both coffee.
“You won’t sleep.”
“I’m not going to sleep anyway.”
She brought the cup to her mouth. He stepped forward, taking the cup from her hands and placing it on the counter.
“Give me back my coffee.”
“No.”
She scowled, reaching for the cup.
“Stop, Reagan.” He used that voice. His Dom voice.
She picked up the cup. Part of her wondered what the hell she was doing? Was she deliberately provoking him? Did she want a fight? Maybe. She put the cup down and ran her hand over her face. “What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re stressed, exhausted.” He picked her up. “And asking for a spanking.”
Reagan leaned her head against his chest. “Is it really over?”
“This intruder shit? Hopefully. Us? No.”
“Promise?” She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t. She loved him. He was everything.
“Promise.”
Chapter Twelve
The next afternoon Tiny let Jack and Roarke into the apartment. Reagan stood as they walked in, their faces grim. “Did she tell you anything?”
“Take a seat,” Tiny told them.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Shall I make coffee? Tea?”
She was so tense, he worried she’d snap. He reached over and grabbed hold of her hand, tugging her down next to him as he sat. “They don’t need tea or coffee.”
He knew it was a coping mechanism. The ritual of making tea or coffee helped her calm down. Helped center her. But he wanted to give her another method of calming herself.
Him.
He ran his hand up and down her arm until she relaxed slightly against him. Good. Assured she was calmer, he turned to Jack. “Well?”