Page 83 of Nash
"Yeah," she says quietly. "I did."
I pull her into me. Her body fits against mine, her head on my chest, my arms around her. The clubhouse is quiet. The morninglight moves across the floor. Her heartbeat settles against my ribs.
My lips press against the top of her head.
"My girl," I murmur.
Her hand finds the headband on my wrist. Her fingers gently trace the faded red fabric. Carefully. She doesn't pull away from it anymore. She touches it the way you touch something that belongs to someone you love, with respect for the weight it carries.
"We'll find her, Nash," she says. "We'll find Sera."
Chapter 20
Nash
Ruby'sbodyisdrapedacross mine on her couch, her head on my chest, the sketchpad she was working on abandoned on the floor. She went mid-sentence, something about retaliation plans for East's wardrobe, her voice trailing off, her eyes closing, her pencil rolling off the cushion. I pulled the blanket over both of us and lasted about four minutes before the weight of her against my chest and the warmth of her breathing pulled me under too.
I wake up at two. The afternoon light is warm through the window. Ruby hasn't moved. Her body is heavy against mine, her hair fanned across my shirt, one leg hooked between both of mine.
My hand is on her breast.
I don't remember putting it there. At some point during sleep my palm found its way under the blanket, under the hem of my shirt she's wearing, and settled against the soft curve of her breast. Her nipple is hard against my palm.
My thumb traces a slow circle around it. She shudders in her sleep, a full-body tremor that presses her hips into my thigh, and my cock responds instantly, thickening against her leg. Her breathing stays slow, deep, her lips parted against my chest.
I do it again. Another slow circle. Her back arches slightly, her fingers curling against my ribs, a quiet sound escaping her throat that goes straight to my groin. I'm fully hard now, aching, my body remembering every sound she made a few hours ago in the spare room. I wish to wake her up with my mouth. Want to peel the shirt off her and taste the freckles across her chest. Want to get lost in her again, in the heat of her, the way her body opened for me, the way she said my name when she stopped fighting the surrender.
But I stop. Let my hand still and rest there. Her heartbeat is steady under my palm. I watch the light move across the ceiling and let myself feel the full weight of her against me, the trust of a woman who fell asleep on my chest with my hand on her skin.
I could stay here. I would like to stay here. I want to wake her up slowly, feel her body respond before her mind catches up, hear the sleepy version of my name in her mouth. But the phone on the coffee table holds a conversation I've been putting off since this morning.
I press my lips to the top of her head. "Ruby." She stirs. Mumbles something. "Ruby. Wake up."
"No." She burrows deeper into my chest. "Denied. Motion rejected. File an appeal."
"I have to make a call."
"Make it from here. I'm comfortable. You're warm. This is non-negotiable."
I tilt her chin up. Her eyes are half-open, sleepy, soft. I kiss her once briefly, and she chases my mouth when I pull back.
"Ten minutes," I say. "Then I'm coming back to this couch."
"You better." She rolls off me, pulling the blanket with her, curling into the warm spot I left behind. Her eyes close before I reach the kitchen.
Kyle picks up on the second ring. "Nash."
"We need to talk about Friday night."
The silence on the other end tells me he knows exactly what I'm referring to. Kyle is loud, chaotic, committed to every bit he runs, but underneath the comedy is a man who takes his assignments seriously. The silence is him bracing.
"Ruby slipped out the back stairwell while you were on her building," I say. "She drove her car to the fight circuit. She was off the grid for over an hour."
"I know."
"You know because East told you, or you know because you clocked it?"
Another silence. Longer.
