His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(100)
Author: Shayla Black

She was glad he’d thought of such things. Honestly, all she’d been considering right now was a hot shower and a bar of soap so she could wipe away the grime of the day. Too bad it couldn’t remove the stain on her soul.

“Thanks.”

With a nod, he started the vehicle and put it in gear. She scanned the area for the man in the hoodie, but he was gone. He’d likely headed into the hotel. With a shrug, she glanced in the other direction and saw the married woman driving away. Her lover stood rooted in place beside his sporty coupe, watching her go. He looked ripped apart.

Bailey suspected she’d feel that way when Joaquin finally realized she’d become attached to him and he walked away.

Sadness dragged her down, even as the day’s tumult still stirred her up. This odd jumble of emotions made her feel as if she overflowed with everything bad and wrong in life. She had a dark past, had lived through a lie of a childhood. Why couldn’t she have one good thing right now?

Joaquin stopped the SUV in a corner of the lot, parking it as close to the back exit as he could. He handed her a key and picked up the backpack. “Room 192. You unlock the door and let me sweep the room before you go in.”

She’d seen this tactic on TV and didn’t understand how anyone might have broken into their hotel room, but if it made him feel safer to follow procedure, fine. In fact, given the feeling of uneasiness she couldn’t shake, maybe caution was a good thing.

As she approached the door, she glanced around the parking lot, but didn’t see anyone, so she shoved the key in the lock. The light turned green, and she heard a little click. Joaquin pushed on the door and extracted his gun from the small of his back, flipping off the safety. Bailey held her breath as he searched every corner, the closet, the bathroom, under the bed.

“The coast is clear.” He motioned her inside.

She entered, letting the door shut behind her. He sloughed off the backpack and threw home the deadbolt.

“Take your shower. I’ll find the phone book in this joint so I can hunt down something that resembles food.”

With a nod, Bailey stumbled into the bathroom. It was utilitarian, but if it had hot water and shampoo, that was all she really needed.

After stripping down, she stood under the hot spray and let it melt her stress. Warmth cascaded over her scalp, through her tresses, rolled down her skin. She grabbed the little bar of soap and glided it over her body, then lathered her hair. In her mind, she did her best to wash away her biological father’s terrible act of questionable mercy, the nightmares that had plagued her for years, the uncertainty of not knowing where tomorrow might lead her.

But instead of the choking emotions dissipating, more roared through her. She’d done her best to tamp them down and not fall apart in the car, but now? They rushed her like a tidal wave. All the hurt, confusion, disbelief, and sadness poured in. A trickling of tears sprang free. It became a steady drip, which then turned into a small stream. Finally, the dam of her self-control broke and her tears transformed into a downpour that squeezed her heart until she couldn’t breathe or think or move. She couldn’t do anything but crumple to the edge of the tub and sob.

Bailey had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, half under the spray of the shower, before Joaquin knocked.

“Baby girl?” he called through the door. “You okay? I’ve got a line on some good pizza.”

She heard the words, wanted to tell him that she couldn’t think about food now, but when she opened her mouth, the only thing she managed was to drag in a shuddering breath, then let loose an uncontrollable, heaving sob.

He didn’t bother knocking again, just shoved the door wide open and burst into the room. Bailey tried to curl into herself. The sense of vulnerability nicked and sliced her until she felt as if she bled from every inch of her skin. She didn’t want him to see her as a victim, a sad case, a tragic girl to pity.

But how else could he possibly see her right now?

Another sob wracked her. He bolted across the tiny bathroom in two big steps and straddled the side of the tub, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his warm body.

“Bailey . . . Don’t cry. Oh, baby girl.” He cradled her tight. “I’m here.”

“I’m b-broken.” She managed to shove the words out between tears.

“Never,” he swore. “You’ve had a tough day. I know a lot of men who wouldn’t have made it through this shit half as well as you.”

Maybe. Bailey didn’t know if he spoke the truth, and her brain was too muddled to consider it. She stared at the water pelting the bottom of the tub. Joaquin’s big, bare foot was drenched, as was the bottom half of one pant leg. She must be saturating his shirt with her wet skin and sopping hair. Still, he didn’t show any signs of leaving her side or saving his clothing from a thorough soaking. He just held her and crooned.