40:
RHEA
Against my better judgment, I unlock the door to my apartment. I pause long enough to take a few steadying breaths, run through the calming techniques I barely believe in, then step aside to let Damien in.
“This is me.”
His presence fills the space instantly. The apartment somehow looks smaller with him inside it, narrower, tighter. I rub at my wrist, irritation creeping up my spine, and force my thoughts elsewhere. Big men in leather jackets. A cramped living room. Headless
Nothing good comes from reminiscing, Rhea.
Damien’s gaze flicks to my wrist. Just once. Then he’s in front of me, fingers closing gently around my hand before I can react. He stills the frantic scratching and wraps my wrist in both of his, warm and solid. He doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t ask. He jus
