Page 51 of Ruined

I laugh, surprising myself. "Good."

She lays her head back down, her breath warm against my skin. We stay like that for a while, neither of us speaking. It should be awkward. It should feel wrong. However, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Finally she shifts against me, sitting up slightly. "We need a shower."

I look at her—hair wild around her face, lips swollen from my kisses, skin marked with evidence of my hands and mouth. She's never looked more beautiful.

"Together?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

She stands, completely comfortable in her nakedness now. "Yes. Together."

I follow her to the bathroom, watching the sway of her hips as she walks ahead of me. She turns on the water, adjusting the temperature before stepping under the spray.

Streams cascade down her body, following the curves I just explored with my hands and mouth. She tilts her head back, soaking her hair, and I'm transfixed.

This woman is going to be the death of me. And she's worth it.

CHAPTER 15

Iwake to the scent of coffee and something sweet. For a moment I don't know where I am. Then it all comes rushing back—the attack, the kidnapping, the kiss.

Noah.

The sheets beside me are rumpled but empty. I run my fingers over the spot where he slept, still warm. My body aches in places I'd forgotten could ache, a delicious soreness that reminds me of everything we did last night.

"Morning."

Noah stands in the doorway, a tray in his hands. His hair is damp, like he's already showered. He wears only sweatpants that hang low on his hips. The tattoos I traced with my fingers last night map across his chest and arms.

"I brought breakfast," he says, moving toward the bed.

I pull the sheet higher, suddenly shy despite everything. "Thanks."

He sets the tray on my lap. Coffee, pancakes drizzled with syrup, fresh berries. It looks like something from a fancy hotel, not what I'd expect from a man who kills people for a living.

"You cook that much?" I ask, taking a sip of coffee. It's perfect—strong with just the right amount of cream.

"I live alone. Had to learn." Noah sits on the edge of the bed, watching me eat. His eyes never leave my face.

I cut into the pancakes, trying to ignore how strange this feels. Not just waking up in his bed, but the domesticity of it all. Last night we fell asleep, him with his arms around me, my head on his chest. I listened to his heartbeat slow as he drifted off.

I've never slept through the night with a man before. Not even David.

"You're quiet," Noah says.

"I'm processing." I take another bite. "This is weird."

"Which part?"

"All of it. You kidnapping me. Us..." I gesture between us. "Whatever happened last night. And now you're bringing me breakfast in bed like we're—" I stop, not sure what to call us.

"Like we're what?" His voice is low, dangerous.

"I don't know." I set down my fork. "That's the problem. I don't know what this is."

Noah reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheek. "Does it need a name?"

"Everything needs a name." I look up at him. "You're still keeping me prisoner. That hasn't changed."

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