Page 62 of Citadel

“Sure you will.” I find a somewhat comfortable spot on the ground. The afternoon is warm, so I don’t need to cover up. I use the blanket for a pillow instead.

I drift off fairly quickly, and when I wake up I’m completely disoriented.

I blink and rub my face, instinctively searching for Cole around me.

When I find him, I freeze. He’s asleep, propped against the rock wall with a hand resting on his rifle. He was clearly intending to keep guard but fell asleep instead.

I don’t move. Don’t make a sound. I don’t want to wake him up.

I’ve never really seen him sleeping before.

His body is just as big as it’s ever been. The breadth of his shoulders and the sculptured contours of his arms nearly breathtaking. But he looks somehow softer in his sleep. His dark arm hair is ruffled on his forearms. A scar slashes through his left eyebrow, and another one runs the length of his right arm.

The one on his arm wasn’t there when I knew him two years ago. I wonder how he got it.

There are sweat spots on the front of his shirt and under both arms. A smudge of dirt across one cheek. He shaves somewhat regularly—both his head and his jaw—but he didn’t shave this morning and it shows.

A curl of something strong—warm and aching and possessive—tightens below my belly as I look at him.

I’m not sure how long I would have sat there unmoving, just watching him, but he wakes up after a few minutes. I see the tightening of his body even before he opens his eyes.

They land on me unerringly. “Y’okay?” he rasps.

“I’m fine.”

“Something happening?”

“No. You were sleeping.”

“Just shut my eyes for a few minutes.” He straightens up, immediately himself again. With all the strength and tension and guardedness that’s always characterized him.

“Sure you did.”

He huffs, his mouth flicking up in a very brief half smile.

I can’t help but smile back.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Why?” I sit up and smooth down my hair, all my nerve endings still buzzing from my reaction to him earlier.

“Don’t know. Something’s going on with you. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Feels like I missed something.” He’s peering at me closely, scrutinizing every detail of my face and body.

I’m convinced my expression is neutral. Revealing nothing of my feelings.

But with a sudden intake of breath, he murmurs thickly, “You’re turned on.”

“I am n—”

“Why are you lying to me?”

“Because how I feel is none of your business. If I want to maintain a pose of indifference, then you should go along with it.”

“Why would I do that?” His eyes have heated up now. I recognize the shift immediately.

“Because it’s polite. You shouldn’t just bluntly announce that someone else is turned on.”

“So you admit it?”

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