Page 212 of Scarlet Wars
I blinked hard, forcing back the tears threatening to spill, and lifted my chin to meet his gaze. His eyes were already on me—searching, and strangely soft—as if he was memorizing every shift in my expression.
My fingers tightened around the necklace. “Will you…help me put it on?”
Caden inhaled slowly, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he nodded once, almost solemnly, as if I’d asked him for something sacred. “It would be my honor.”
I turned slightly, sweeping my hair to one side with trembling hands, and felt the warmth of him behind me, close enough that his breath ghosted over the back of my shoulder as his fingertips brushed lightly against my skin.
He lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the clasp clicking shut with a quiet finality.
“You wear it beautifully,” he murmured, as he turned back to face me.
I smiled at him, eager to lighten the mood. “Careful Colt. I’ll start thinking you’re sweet on me.”
He huffed a laugh. “Let’s not get carried away.”
I shook my head as I reached for my book, then curled up in my chair.
Across from me, Caden watched—quiet, unreadable—until I finally met his gaze.
He winked, the smug bastard, before he reached for his own book and flipped it open with that effortless carelessness only he could make look charming.
For a few blissful minutes, the room fell into an easy silence, exactly like we used to have at Crown. The fire crackled, the Scotch in our glasses waved softly, and I could almost pretend we were simply two people killing time instead of soldiers with an expiration date.
However, as I turned a page, something didn’t add up.
The words weren’t familiar.
The handwriting in the margin definitely wasn’t mine.
I frowned, glancing at the spine.
Of course. I’d grabbed his book.
Oh no.Which meant…
My head snapped up, and I found him staring at me, my book open in his lap, his brow raised. “This is porn.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the heat in my cheeks. “It’s called smut, Caden. Have some culture.”
He cleared his throat. “Do you read this ‘smut’ often?”
“Define often,” I mumbled under my breath, unwilling to meet his eye.
He tilted his head, studying me with a dark, assessing intensity, like he’d caught me in a lie. “Often would be every time you and I got together to read. At Crown, here at Kanata C.” Hisgaze flicked pointedly to the book. “Tell me, Thompson. Is this the kind of content you are always devouring?”
“Notalways,” I muttered, cheeks still burning, wishing he’d found literallyanyother book.
His voice dropped lower. “Does this…” his gaze flicked to the book before snapping back to me “Does this affect you?”
“Affect me?” I repeated, frowning.
He shut the book with a quiet snap, laid it on the table, and prowled toward me. His hands gripped the arms of my chair, boxing me in. My back hit the cushion, no room to retreat.
His breath ghosted over my cheek. “You can play dense all you want, but all it does is fry my patience.”
My lungs stuttered, betraying me.
His mouth curved into something dark, and dangerous. “Let me spell it out. While reading your precioussmut, while being in the same room as me—all this fucking time—were you aroused?”
