Page 98 of Forsaken Oath

The way Beau is looking at me, with such open affection and care, makes my heart ache a little, in the good way. His blue eyes are soft, crinkling at the corners, as he smiles down at me. There’s a tenderness there that I’m not used to seeing directed my way. It’s both thrilling and terrifying, the way he looks at me like I’m something special, something to be treasured.

I want to bask in the warmth of his gaze, to let myself melt into his strong arms and forget about the rest of the world for a while. But there’s a part of me that resists, that whispers reminders of all the reasons I should keep my guard up. Letting someone in, really letting them see all the broken, jagged pieces of me—it’s not something that comes easily. There are too many secrets, too much baggage weighing me down.

Beau's fingers brush against mine as we walk through the stacks, sending a tingle of electricity up my arm. It's such a simple touch, almost casual, but it feels loaded with unspoken meaning. I glance up at him through my lashes, trying to read his expression. But he just smiles that easy, heart-stopping smile of his, like touching me is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it is for him. But for me, every point of contact feels significant, weighted with questions I’m nervous to ask. What are we doing here, Beau and I?

But fuck it. I have a lot of flaws, but cowardice isn’t one of them.

I stop walking in the horror section, turning and leaning a shoulder against the shelf. “Is this what we’re doing now?”

He braces a hand on the shelf above my head and faces me. “What’s that, Peach?”

I nod my head to the right. “This. Going to the bookstore, bringing me donuts. Buying my favorite coffee. All these couple-y things.” My nose scrunches up a little, and I almost want to stuff the words back into my mouth. But I want to hear his reply more, so I let them linger between us.

It’s a dare if I’ve ever given one.

His head tilts to the side, his brows forming a little v over his blue eyes. “Are we not a couple, Peach?”

Leaning my head back against the shelf, I murmur, “I don’t know, are we?”

He hums underneath his breath. “Hand me your coffee.”

I arch a brow and give it to him wordlessly. He sets it on the shelf to our right, along with his own.

“Put your book down, Peach,” he murmurs, his blue eyes almost sparkling.

I don’t take my gaze from him as I blindly set it on the shelf behind me.

He steps closer, crowding into my space until all I can see, all I can feel, is him. His hands come up to cup my face, his palms warm and slightly rough against my skin. His thumbs brush over my cheekbones, the touch achingly tender. My breath catches in my throat as he leans in, his nose brushing against mine.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, meant only for me. “I thought I made it pretty clear how I feel about you.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, hope and trepidation warring. “Remind me again.”

Beau gazes down at me, his blue eyes intense and filled with an emotion that makes my knees feel weak. He brushes his thumbs over my cheekbones again, the touch reverent, like he’s memorizing the feel of my skin.

“Eloise Hawthorne,” he says softly, his warm breath fanning across my face. “You’re under my skin, in my veins. From the moment I saw you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. Your smile, your laugh, the way you come apart under my touch. It’s imbedded into me, baby.”

“Beau,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly.

“You’re mine, Peach. And I’m happy to remind you anytime you need it.”

And then he’s kissing me, his mouth slanting over mine in a kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. It’s soft at first, achingly tender, his lips moving slowly over mine like he’s savoring the taste of me. But then his tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him on a sigh, the kiss deepening, turning hungry and consuming.

His hands tangle in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss further. It feels like my soul starts to sigh, like she’s swept up in the romanticism of it all.

It’s the kind of kiss people write books about, the kind songs are written for.

In the middle of the horror section, Beau Carter kisses me like the world will stop spinning if he stops. It’s the most romantic, all-consuming kiss of my life.

It’s everything.

42

ELOISE

I followBeau up the stone walkway, Vivie’s hand firmly in mine, and try not to let my nerves show. His parents’ house is gorgeous—two stories of colonial charm, with a wraparound porch and flowerbeds so full of life it feels like stepping into a painting.

---