Then, when she was dry, he stripped out of his own wet clothing and got into bed. She immediately curled up against him and went back to sleep. He pulled her against him and ran a hand through her drying hair, thoughtful. She was beautiful while she slept, but utterly vulnerable.
Chelsea Hall was now his to protect. He wouldn’t fail her. It was clear that someone had failed her in the past.
Never again.
Chapter Nine
Chelsea woke up with her cheek pressed against a warm male chest and her hair a snarl around her face. Her head throbbed and her throat hurt, and for a moment, she didn’t recall where she was. She sat up, blinking at her surroundings. A posh hotel room with a canopy bed and a fancy couch, and the world’s biggest balcony just outside the doors. There were towels and blankets strewn all over the floor. Even as she sat up, thunder rumbled, and she remembered.
Oh, god. She’d lost her shit last night. All she remembered was the shower, then the loss of light. Then utter fear.
When she had one of her panic attacks, she forgot everything else, her body moving in a state of mindless terror. Normally she attacked people until somehow it clicked that she wasn’t in the Dumpster. That she was safe.
She licked her lips, feeling awkward.
Sebastian’s hand went to the small of her back and he rubbed it through the robe. “Hey. You okay?”
She looked over at him, hesitant. His black hair was a wild nest of curls, stark against the white pillows. His skin seemed darker than ever, that gorgeous olive that contrasted so beautifully with his eyes. His bare chest was muscular¸ lightly furred with dark hair, and she could see a happy trail disappearing down under the sheets.
And he had a big bruise on his jaw. Probably from her. She tended to go fists-first when she had a panic attack, and it looked like Sebastian had been the victim of it.
She didn’t know what to do. Deny her panic attack? Confess her past? Neither seemed like a great option. Only Pisa and her therapist knew the truth of things, and it had taken Chelsea nearly a year to confess to Pisa her traumatic past.
And she’d only been married to Sebastian Cabral for a day.
So she pasted a brilliant smile on her face and rubbed her wild hair off of her face. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
He sat up on his elbows in bed, dark brows furrowing. “Well, last night was kind of a hot mess.”
“I must have drank something,” she lied, getting out of bed. Oh, jeez, she was naked under her robe. That was awkward. She held it tighter against her.
“I watched you all night. You didn’t drink anything. You want to tell me what this is about?” His tone was utterly suspicious.
“It’s nothing—”
“It’s not nothing,” he said vehemently, sitting up in bed. “You were catatonic with fear. You acted like you were being murdered.”
She flinched at his words. Did he really have to use the term “murdered”? “I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not on day one of our marriage.”
“Are you kidding me? I feel like this is something we absolutely need to talk about, and the sooner the better.”
“Please,” Chelsea said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t, okay? Not right now.” Maybe not ever.
For a moment, she thought he was going to argue with her. Instead, he rubbed a hand down his face and then threw his arms up. “Fine. Forget it. We won’t talk about it right now. I just worry about you, okay?”
“I’m fine, really!” She hauled herself off the bed and headed for the bathroom, desperate to get away.
“Holy fuck, what’s that?”
She froze and turned around, clutching the robe. “What’s what?”
“Your leg.” His eyes were wide. “When did that happen?” He bounded off the bed and she saw he was in a pair of white boxer briefs that clung to his body and outlined . . . things. Things she was pretty sure she didn’t want to see on her new, platonic husband. Chelsea backed up as he approached her.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me see your leg,” he told her, then knelt and pushed the robe aside. His jaw dropped when an enormous, livid bruise on her hip was revealed. “Jesus, did I do that?”
“Oh, that old thing?” She called that her “landing spot” because every time she was knocked down in derby, she seemed to land on the same hip. “It’s just a bruise.”
“Just a bruise?” he echoed, looking up at her with concern. “It covers half your leg!”
“Pff. It does not.” She pushed the robe back in place, feeling a little uncomfortable at his intense scrutiny of her body. “I just fell. That’s all.”
“Chelsea,” he said, getting to his feet. The look on his face was somber. Worried. “You’re safe with me. You know that, right? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She leaned in and patted his cheek. “And that’s very sweet.”
“You can trust me.”
“That’s nice. Now I’m going to take a shower.”
He sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about this some other time.” He turned back toward the bed.
“Just . . . one thing, Sebastian.”
He turned, the look on his face curious.
She pointed at the bathroom. “Can you turn the light on in there for me?” Yes, she was being a baby, and no, she didn’t care.
He sighed, shook his head, and turned the light on in the bathroom.
Chelsea took her time in the bathroom, showering, then spending an extra long time fixing her snarled hair. She was avoiding Sebastian, she knew it. But it was hard to go out there and have a conversation with the man when she didn’t want to talk about how she’d acted last night.