Page 117 of Revenge Puck

“Are you two close?” I ask, keeping my tone even.

She studies me for a half-second before replying. “We used to fight a lot when we were kids—he was overly protective. Bossy. But yeah. He’d do anything for me.”

Would he?

“And you?” I press gently. “You’d do anything for him?”

Her answer is immediate. “Of course.”

I file her answer away under:Loyal to a fault. Move my hand from her hair, down her arm, to her waist at the exact time she leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose.

It’s light. Playful.

“We’re family. That’s what family does.”

Juliette lowers her hand between us on the comforter, palm open. And without thinking about it, I take it. Lift it. Turn it over in mine.

It’s warm. Tiny.

I bring it to my mouth.

Kiss the center of her palm.

Her wrist.

Press my lips to her erratically beating pulse.

My mouth remains there, and when I glance into her eyes she’s staring as if I’ve done something far more intimate than anything that happened earlier in the shower.

We don’t speak.

There is no need to.

I slide my hand from her palm to lace our fingers together, kissing her knuckles.

“Aaron, what has gotten into you?” she whispers.

I wish I knew.

I have no fucking idea because I am not supposed to be feeling anything for this woman, let alone tenderness.

Not admiration. All of this is supposed to be a sham, for fuck’s sake.

And why does my throat feel tight?

“I just—” Don’t even know what I was going to say.

I just…

I just what?

Feel like a complete asshole because the most patient, sincere, quietly stunning woman I’ve ever met is fluttering her lashes at me, pink lips parted, skin glowing?

So what if she’s nice? Lots of people are nice.

And kind.

And caring.