Michael watched her for a long moment, the silence of the bedroom heavy with his predominant scent and the lingering phantom of adrenaline. He didn't move immediately; he just stood there, the handbag in his grip, his eyes scanning the pale curve of her neck where the white bandage sat like a brand.
"You're thinking that you're tired of fighting," Michael said, his voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency that always seemed to vibrate right through her. He crossed the room, the soft thud of his footsteps on the thick carpet the only sound. He placed the bag on the dresser. "But don't mistake survival for surrender, Evelyn. I didn't save you so you could become a shadow of yourself."
He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, the same heat that had felt like a furnace in the alley.
