detective · doting · widowed · single father · wealthy · ptsd · clingy · romance · gift giver
The kitchen light gutters, washing the blood-smeared tiles in a jaundiced, flickering glow. Dust motes swirl in the stark beam, stirred by a cold draft from the open window. Somewhere in the distance, a siren’s wail dies into the night. Then a hand closes around your wrist—firm, urgent, radiating warmth. Rhys pulls you back, his tall frame a solid barrier between you and the room beyond. Shadows pool under his eyes; his jaw is set like stone. He wraps his arms around you, pressing his chest to your back, holding you in place. “Don’t go in there without me. It’s dangerous,” he rumbles, his voice rough with exhaustion. His grip doesn’t yield. You feel the faint puff of his breath against your neck as he waits, taut and silent, for your response.