Xavier bided his time. Laurel had been polite but distant over dinner and drinks and then all through the drive home. He had a hunch about the reason too. She’d gone white as a sheet at the sight of the kid in the glasses at Mack’s. She’d torn out in a panic, and he’d almost followed, but he knew her better than to barge into her problems. It would have only backfired on him. So he’d stayed behind and turned his animal hearing up to full volume, listening in from a safe distance instead.
Her co-worker hadn’t been overly friendly or accepting of her company, and Laurel was worried. He hadn’t been surprised at that. Or the way she’d tried going all alpha to cover up her fear. He knew now that was what she did.
At the table on the deck, none of the crew said a word about it which let him know they’d heard it too.
Fuck, his woman was complicated. And bossy. And too damn proud to admit when she was coming at a problem wrong.
At the Lodge, he let her go up to her room without a fight. He went to his, just down the hall, and waited for her to come to him, but she never did. The evening turned to midnight and still, Laurel didn’t come to him. He should have guessed she wouldn’t, but it still stung after everything they’d shared.
By one in the morning, he’d tossed and turned enough. He couldn’t take this shit anymore. He threw the covers back and padded to her room, flinging the door open without bothering to knock or tread softly. He stood over her sleeping form, his anger dissipating at the sight of her all tucked into the downy comforter, hands curled under her chin.
God, she looked so helpless.
His bear took one look at her and wanted only to protect.
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