Page 23 of Desired By Eros

Psyche tilted her head, considering it. “That makes sense. You’re always warm, even when we’re up in the clouds. Plus,” she added, “body heat transfer is much more effective when there’s direct contact, and your metabolic rate?—”

“Sure, Psyche,” he interrupted with a smirk.

She dragged her sleeping bag closer, positioning it next to him. Settling down, she lay on her back, adjusting until she was comfortable. Eros draped his arm over her, his touch radiating warmth. The familiarity of it reminded her of their flights, how natural it felt to lean into him.

“Good night,” she murmured, her voice soft as the pattering rain lulled her.

“Get some sleep.”

The last thing she remembered was his hand giving her the faintest squeeze before drifting off.

Chapter 4

Eros

Eros awoke slowly, a strange ache pinching at his neck.

What—?

Oh, right, he was using a towel as a pillow as he’d slept on the ground, in a tent, next to?—

“Psyche?” He quickly sat up as he became aware that he was alone in the tent. Dread set in his chest for the briefest moment, but then he remembered where they were, and as Psyche had said, she was a shifter. Lying back down, he let out a huff.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a bed with a woman and just slept. Perhaps never.I hope I’m not losing my touch.

Of course, while he enjoyed teasing her, it wasn’t like he was actively seducing her. Artemis had basically warned him not to sleep with her. He was pretty sure that if he even put in a small effort, he could get Psyche in his bed. But last night, she was cold, and while he loved sex and women, he wasn’t about to take advantage of someone who just needed a bit of warmth.

Sitting up, he crawled toward the opening of the tent and stuck his head out. “Psyche?” She was a few steps away, headbent down as she stared at her phone. He hauled himself up, stepped into his shoes, and trudged toward her. “Are you ready for breakfast?” She didn’t answer, so he circled around to face her. “Psyche?”

She lifted her head and the moment he saw her face, he knew something was wrong.

He’d spent so much time with her over the last few days that he could finally read some of her emotions. The revelation of her being on the spectrum had been a surprise, but it didn’t matter to him. In the thousands of years he’d lived, he’d met all kinds of mortals and creatures. Her diagnosis was just another facet of human existence. While he was no expert, he had picked up some knowledge about autism over the last few decades. It just didn’t click for him that she had it, not until she told him, and then everything about her made sense. Curious, he studied her mannerisms, her speech, and the expressions on her pretty face, trying to figure her out. She was like a puzzle and it was only through careful observation that he even began to put the pieces together.

Joy was perhaps the easiest emotion to read. Being at the camp and being surrounded by her beloved fossils, Psyche had only ever shown happiness and excitement. The look on her face, however, was the complete opposite.

“What’s wrong?”

Her little pert nose wrinkled. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“My sisters are scheduled to visit me this weekend.”

“Sisters? You have sisters?”

“Of course I do. Older sisters. Agnes is thirty, and Christine is twenty-seven.”

“So, what about them?”

“They’re headed to Alaska pack territory as we speak. My parents are sending them.” She huffed out a breath. “I know theycare about me, which is why they check up on me. They used to do that back when I was in college. Usually, one of them will come, or they’ll send our Beta. But for some reason, my sisters volunteered this time.”

“So? Do you not get along with them?” Being an only child, he had no idea how sibling dynamics worked.

“It’s not that. But sometimes…sometimes I find it hard to be around them because I’m autistic. They’ll talk really fast or use idioms or make innuendos that I can’t read the meaning of. Worse is when they use sarcasm, and it’s like…they deliberately do it to confuse me.”

“Sounds like being autistic isn’t the problem.” Anger sparked in his chest. It was small, but it was there.

“They’re my sisters,” she reasoned.

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