She nodded then swayed precariously.
‘Whoa.’ Instinctively, he grabbed hold of her again except his hands made a beeline for her waist. ‘You OK?’
Tilly darted a glance up at his face before checking herself. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, talking to his torso. ‘So, er… Right. Yes. Well. It was… um… good to see you again –’ she squared her shoulders and pulled herself up the tallest she could go. ‘– but I’d best be off now.’ She took a step backwards but he matched her movements. She jinked to the opposite side to try to break free but Dean didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go, not wanting to let her get away.
‘Nice try.’
Her shoulders sagged and her eyes closed. Long eyelashes feathered her cheeks, some clumped together with the makeup that hadn’t yet smudged itself all over her beautiful face. Tilly looked pale even without the stark contrast of the black against her fair skin. She gulped in a deep breath then exhaled slowly, deflating in his arms and drooping over until her forehead ended up propped against his chest.
Even in high heels, she barely reached his chin, or rather high heel. Singular. An arrow of alarm pierced him. Had she been mugged? Or… or… He couldn’t even entertain the other option which sprang to mind.
‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered into her hair.
‘Everything.’ She spoke so softly he almost missed what she’d said but the pain in that one word wounded him, cutting deep into his soul. Whoever had done this to her would pay. He’d rip them to shreds with his own bare hands. Nobody treated his Tilly like this and got away with it.
No.
He took a deep breath to calm himself, determined to restrain the rage ripping through his veins. Violence was never the answer; he’d learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago but that wasn’t what made him stop wanting to shake her, to demand names and details. While he might not be an expert on women, especially emotionally overwrought ones, he was pretty sure she wasn’t looking for a bodyguard or some kind of enforcer. What she needed was a friend, and somehow she’d ended up with him.
Dean unclenched his jaw, determined to keep his voice gentle. ‘Why don’t I take you home?’
Tilly sobbed, little whimpers at first but soon turning into big heaving sobs. He tried to pull her close but she resisted, raising her hands and pressing them against his chest. ‘Your shirt, it’ll get ruined,’ she said, in between gulps of air. ‘I’ll get mascara all over it.’
‘So what?’ He let out a sigh and shifted his hand to cradle the back of her head, drawing her gently into his chest. ‘I don’t give a damn about my shirt. Surely you know me better than that?’
Tilly stopped fighting and relaxed her arms. She buried her face into him and his shirt soon grew damp with the deluge of tears. Dean tightened his hold until he clutched her to him, his heart breaking a little bit more with each sob and shudder.
Overcome with a savage need to shield her from the whole world, Dean ignored his better judgement and stooped down to retrieve her suitcase. ‘Come on.’ Keeping one arm looped around her waist, he led her to the taxi rank outside the station where a line of black cabs waited. ‘Let’s get you out of here…’
Tilly sat huddled up to Dean on the back seat of the black cab with her suitcase stowed beside her feet. He’d tucked her under his arm so that her head lay against his chest. His warm and surprisingly rough free hand held hers, and the arm draped around her shoulder held onto her so tightly, she might as well have been sitting on his lap.
Utterly electrifying, there wasn’t so much as an inch between them from shoulder down to hip and the more she tried to ignore the tingles, the stronger they got. She didn’t believe for a second that Dean could be as calm and unruffled as he appeared. His nostrils were flaring for a start, but she admired his attempt at control and emulated it so that she could finally stop snivelling all over him.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, her nose so bunged up her voice came out sounding like the rail platform announcements she’d been subjected to.
‘We’re on our way to my house.’ Dean brushed the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to go anywhere public but we can go somewhere else if you prefer?’ His gaze bored into her head, pulling her own gaze up to glance at him and see his face thrown into shadow by the orange streetlights.
A flicker of apprehension marred his features and her fingers itched to smooth away the worry lines. No way would she be able to stop there though; ever since she’d set eyes on him, she’d wondered how his new clean-shaven jaw would feel if she touched it. Handsome to a fault anyway, Dean had really smartened up his appearance.
Gone were the dark, shaggy tresses that used to hang scruffily around his face and past his chin. Instead, he had a smart yet stylish haircut with his hair swept back off his face but still long enough to run her fingers through. The only things that hadn’t changed much were his amazing eyes, shining bright in the darkness. She didn’t need the light to know they were almost charcoal in colour with flecks of sapphire blue hidden in their depths.
‘Your place is fine. Thank you.’
‘Great.’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘It’s not far now.’
Sure enough, the taxi pulled up at the kerbside long before she’d worked out why Dean was being so nice to her. She had no idea where he’d brought her either. They’d left the industrial, urban sights of Manchester behind several miles back and it had been too dark to see much else. Not that she’d particularly been looking; the windows had steamed up so she’d spent the majority of the journey surreptitiously checking him out.
Ever the perfect gentleman, Dean paid the fare then helped her down from the cab. Tilly stepped onto the pavement and got her first view of a row of stone-terraced houses, staggered as they climbed up a steep hill. They looked old, like they’d been there at least a hundred years already.
Dean grabbed her suitcase then led her up to the first house with his arm around her waist. ‘Please excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting visitors.’ He turned the key then pushed open the front door, reaching inside to flick a switch before blinding her with the bright light. ‘After you,’ he said, gesturing with his free hand.
‘Thanks.’ She’d expected a porch or a hallway once she’d stepped across the threshold but found herself standing inside the front room. Tilly couldn’t help but be drawn farther into the room and ran her hand over the dark leather sofa, soft and cool to the touch. The whole room smelled like him too, masculine and woody.
Dean thankfully mistook her shiver for being cold. He walked to the wood-burning stove, all set up and ready to go with the simple toss of a match.
Lots of natural wood welcomed her inspection, not a hint of chipboard in sight, yet Dean had managed to combine it with glass and chrome. Somehow it worked, with the modern aspects complementing the original features and the age of the property rather than looking vulgar and out of place.
‘It’s beautiful, Dean.’
‘Thanks.’ The smile that tugged at his lips wasn’t your everyday smile. This one lit up his entire face and showed off his teeth, even the very back ones. ‘It’s been a labour of love but I’m getting there. You should have seen it when I bought it, talk about a mess, I had to strip it right back to its shell and start from scr–’
‘You did all this?’
Dean nodded and his smile somehow grew wider.
‘Wow. It’s amazing.’ She knew he’d always been good working with his hands, doing odd jobs for cash even when he’d still been at school from what little she could gather about his past, but this