Page 128 of Winds of Ruin
There it was.
My throat constricted. “We were rattled. We’d almost died. It’s a common thing to seek a thrill after such a close call. Don’t fret about...” The justification died on my tongue.
“Mhm,” he sighed out. His smug demeanor said,I don’t buy it.
His lids drooped, as though he could drift off right there, in the chair, as he took his last drag of drink.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” he mused and rose.
I shot up beside him and blurted, “Stay.”
He hesitated.
Damn it all.
I didn’t want him to go.
“Is that a good idea? Wouldn’t want us to risk seeking any more ‘thrills,’” he deadpanned.
Stepping toward him, I said, “I promised to cut that out, and I mean it this time. Sleep here. With me.”
His head tilted as though not believing me as he met my pleading stare. The way he bit his lower lip in thought almost melted me again.
I continued, “I will keep my hands to myself, my clothes on, and my lips off yours.” I added a wink for good measure.
I’d do whatever it took to keep him in my space. I’d never merelylainwith someone before. It sounded more indulgent than sex.
He chuckled, and his cheeks darkened a touch. “Fine. Only because I don’t know if I could fall asleep knowing an eight-legged creature may lurk over your bed in the wee hours of the night. You’d becompletelyunprotected.”
I rolled my eyes, shuffling to my bed and pulling back the sheets. Emmerick hesitantly approached the footboard, watching me.
With a pat on the side opposite me, the furthest my fingers could reach, I welcomed him. “You poke fun at me over the spiders. Are you still afraid of monsters under the bed?”
He huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Only the ones in them. But you seem to be my remedy for sleepless nights.”
He ran a hand across the back of his neck; his endearing nervous tell sank itself under my skin and warmed my blood.
“I’ve been told that before in amuchdifferent context.” I laughed, and he groaned.
He lay down atop of the sheets beside me.
Ever the gentleman.
Turning toward him, I extended my hand—a harmless gesture.
He took it, pulling it to his heart and running his thumb over the back in a slow, sweeping motion, as his stare aimed up at the wood beams above.
He’d shaved, but dark stubble already graced his perfect jawline. His sculpted chest rose and fell below my hand.
Kissing him again crossed my mind, but I fought the impulse.
I watched his profile as his lashes drifted downward. When I reached up and massaged his scalp through his mussed curls, he let out a pleased grumble and fully closed his eyes.
So much for keeping my hands to myself.
It was the most intimate moment I’d ever shared with someone, and all our clothes were on. I’d neverneededsomeone so much.
My heart ached. All those plucked daisies and shooting stars had worked at the most inconvenient of times.
