Page 143 of The Blade in the Ashes
He nodded enthusiastically, amusement lighting up his features in a way that seemed to soothe my soul. “I do.”
He waved the grape between us, preparing to gear up for the throw. I only shook my head ruefully at him.
“Clay, that is ridiculous. We are adults and—”
The grape hit against the center of my forehead and bounced onto the bed between us. For a moment, we both stared down at it. I opened my mouth and closed it again, searching for the right words.
“I cannot believe you actually threw that at me.”
He grinned, grasping the discarded fruit in his fingertips and leaning towards me. I held out my tongue as he pressed it to my lips, and he placed it into my mouth, the pad of his thumb dancing across my lower lip as he did. I savored the flash of golden light in his eyes as he stared at my mouth.
“My apologies,” he mumbled.
A sudden wave of heat coursed over my skin as he pulled back once more, reclining back on the bed and giving me a clear view of the firm muscleslining his shoulders and stomach. We still had yet to leave the bedroom, so we both lingered in various states of undress, often rotating between sleeping, nibbling on bits of meals that were delivered to us, and trying to catch up on all that had happened in the months that we had been apart.
Our time apart had left both of us changed, but in many ways, he was just as I had remembered him. Leadership had perhaps left the area under his eyes more hollow than I remembered, and days spent training had given his hair and skin a sun-kissed glow, but his jaw was just as defined. His pale, pink lips were just as full. And, thankfully—amazingly—his eyes were still just as full of love.
I swallowed heavily, feeling my cheeks warm with a blush as I reached for the plate that lingered between us and picked off more of the bread that had been delivered to us.
“You're staring,” I noted after a minute. The weight of his attention was undeniable.
He grinned. “Can you blame me?”
My brow lifted, mirroring the smirk he used to give me so frequently. “Maybe it makes me nervous.”
His tongue darted out quickly over his lower lip, his attention dropping to my mouth for a brief moment. “Does it?”
Nervous? No.
Overly sensitive, slightly needy, and undeniably alert? Most definitely yes.
“Perhaps,” I mused.
He chuckled, and that laughter hung between us as restlessness started to stir deep within me.
Unease always seemed to follow the brief moments of happiness we'd found since we reunited.
Standing, I rubbed my hands against the hem of Clay's oversized shirt, wiping away the crumbs that lingered. My heels crashed down onto thehardwood as I made my way towards the window. Only to pause momentarily while I spun and marched back to the bed.
To the window. Then to the bed.
To the window. And back.
Clay watched me as I paced, his breathing becoming measured even as he silently let me worry myself into a fit.
“You're going to wear a groove into the floor if you keep going.”
I reached for the throw pillow discarded on the floor and chucked it towards him. “That's a bit dramatic.”
He caught it one-handed, winking at me in the process. “That's the seventh time you've passed by me.”
His hand snaked out, wrapping around my wrist and pulling me back towards him. The gentle touch sent an ache shooting up my arm, a constant reminder of the way it had once been brutalized. I tried not to let that pain show on my face, but he released it as quickly as he had reached for me with an awkward, muttered apology.
It was all so awkward.
Things had never been awkward between us before.
Our interactions had always been heated, either with the flames of passion or those of irritation and anger. We'd had a constant and predictable push and pull. We'd understood each other without speaking, even in those early days when we didn't want to acknowledge just how well we understood each other.
