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chest, finally wrapping around his neck. She sighed loud enough for him to hear and buried her face into his shirt, breathing the wonderfully male scent of him.
    "Better?” he rumbled, though he would have been content to hold her as long as she wanted. He felt her nod, but she did nothing to move away from him. When he felt her shiver, he reached down and lifted her in his arms, holding her high against his chest.
    "What are you doing?” she asked softly, not really caring as long as he didn't leave.
    "I'm taking you to bed,” he answered, just as softly, turning from the kitchen and into her bedroom. She stiffened against him again, but all he did was drop a soft kiss on the silky black curls that tickled his neck.
    Her bedroom was a surprise. He'd been sure she'd have art deco, crazy shapes and wild colors in her room. Instead, it was painted a soothing green, one wall the same dark red brick that made up the rest of the building. A big plush bed was against one wall, with tons of pillows and a thick sage green comforter. He pulled that and the sheet back with one hand before easing her under them. Covering her, he sat down on the side of the bed, his hands restless. He seemed anxious to touch, constantly reaching for her to brush a stray curl from her face or to stroke a hand down her arm.
    "When I was a beat cop,” he said softly, his rumbly voice making her feel safe, “I got a call downtown to the wharf district. Someone was screaming for help and whoever called the police didn't know why. I headed down that way, thinking that it was probably nothing, a junkie that woke up on the wrong side of his high or a prostitute that got rolled.” He paused, his fingers twining with hers, watching how their hands looked together.
    "What happened?” she urged, liking the sound of his voice and interested in learning more about him.
    "I didn't wait for backup, just took off on my own. The woman who'd been screaming was dead, she'd been beaten severely, and the man who'd done it was still there. He was hopped up on drugs—out of his mind. I shot him,” Gideon paused again, glancing at her.
    "And?"
    "He kept coming. He kept coming through four more bullets and probably would have beaten me to death if backup hadn't arrived when it had. I spent four days in the hospital and...I shouldn't tell you this."
    Kenzie smiled, reaching over with her other hand and playing with his mussed shirt. “Oh, now you have to tell me."
    "I still have nightmares about him. Bad ones,” he admitted, glancing at her from under his lashes. “Now you know my worst secret. I'm a coward.” He sighed theatrically.
    The snort that came from Kenzie was definitely disbelieving. “Yeah, sure you are. Next you'll tell me that there actually is a Santa Claus."
    "There isn't?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
    "Ha ha. I'm really sorry I dragged you out of bed to come over and take care of my histrionics.” She stared at a spot on his chest as she spoke, glancing up under her thick lashes to see the expression on his face.
    "Are you feeling better?"
    "Yeah, a bit.” Her voice trailed off and she jumped when he got up.
    She watched as he kicked off his shoes, pulling his shirt up and over his head. “What are you doing?” she asked quickly, a note of panic in her tone even though the sight of that chest, bare, wide, with a trailing of dark hair that disappeared under his jeans, had her heart beating faster.
    "I thought I'd lie down with you until you fell asleep,” he said and she couldn't help but hear the sound of amusement in his voice. “I promise to behave."
    "Oh,” she said lamely, watching as he moved around the bed and stretched out on top of the comforter. He whapped a pillow once or twice, put it behind his head and then held out his arms to her.
    "Come here."
    She went, she really didn't have a choice. He made her feel safe and cared for. Feelings she hadn't had in a very long time. She'd been so independent, thinking that if she leaned upon