Page 61 of Sweet Poison

And while her curves drive a man like me mad with need to claim her, it’s the curve of her smile that I crave the most. I find myself doing things I’m not particularly comfortable with just to see her smile. Like right now.

She’s so focused on crafting her sandcastle that she doesn’t notice me standing back, just staring at her. Seashells scatter around her—ones I found for her— and I can’t help but lean in a little closer.

“Can I help?” I find myself blurting out of nowhere, the softness of my voice surprising me even.

She looks up, her face lighting up as if I’ve just offered her the world, yet she looks nervous. I hate and love that I make her nervous. She lifts her left hand and signs, “Of course,” then she pats the spot next to her for me to join her. “This castle needs a dark king,” she whispers playfully, signing the words with a grin.

A dark king…Only she would see me that way. Only ever my Wild One.

Trying to hide how much the sweet shit she says and does affect me, I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a small chuckle. “I’m no king, Willow. Villains and evil ones are more suited for me, don’t you think?” I sign, too. I always want her to use her voice around me, but I also want to make her feel comfortable. Sign language is part of who she is, I never want her to be anything but herself.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Willow looks offended on my behalf. Surprisingly, I can’t help but smile at that.

“You’re not a villain or evil,” she murmurs, as she looks down at a salmon pink seashell on her lap.

“I’m not?” I ask, studying her profile.

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing as she does.

“What am I, then?”

A long moment passes before she lifts her head and gives me her pretty eyes. I’m left breathless, captivated by blues the same shade as the sea in front of us.

Her voice breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “A hero. You’ve always been a hero, Madden.”

A hero.

You’ve always been a hero, Madden.

Her words hit me like a wave, crashing into memories I thought I’d buried. I remember being a young and angry boy, standing up for the girl who painted his gray world against the cruel whispers and taunts. I’d felt strong then, fiercely protective of her. As the memories crash into me, my heart stirs with an emotion I still can’t fucking place.

Sympathy? No, I don’t think so. It’s much more than that.

My fingers sift through the sand, looking for something to distract me from the sudden rush of emotions that confuse the shit out of me. The tide laps gently at the shore, as the sun sets turning the sky into a beautiful shade of pink but my mind is tangled in Willow’s words.A hero. It feels strange, almost foreign, yet it settles in a way that makes me proud.

Her hero.

Is that what she thinks of when she looks at me?

As I dig deeper, something catches my eye. I brush aside the sand, revealing a heart-shaped seashell. I pick it up and inspect it closer.

Huh.

I swallow hard, a knot forming in my throat. “Willow…” I open my hand, revealing the heart-shaped shell.

“Oh…” she whispers, her eyes widening. She takes the seashell from me, her fingers brushing against mine and sending a warm jolt through me. Willow holds the shell close to her heart, as if the small and simple gesture means the world to her.

So sweet.

So damn kind.

So, her.

The weight of her gaze is heavy, and I lean in closer until I’m just a breath away. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” The question escapes before I can second-guess myself, my heart racing as I wait for her response.

Her eyes widen in surprise, a lovely blush creeping across her cheeks. Fuck, I love when she blushes. I’m starting to become addicted to it. “D-Dinner? Just us?”

“Yeah. Just us.” I’m still trying to figure out why I said it, but the smile creeping onto her face feels like the right answer.

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