Page 59 of Fragile Sanctuary

We fell into an easy rhythm. Anson rinsed the dishes and then handed them to me to put into the dishwasher. There was something about watching his hands in the suds as he scrubbed. Long, strong fingers bending and flexing, his forearm muscles pulling taut as he moved.

I forced my gaze away as I took the last plate, placing it in the dishwasher. As I straightened, I nearly smacked into Anson, not realizing he was still standing at the sink. “Sorry, I?—”

My words cut off as my breath hitched. He was so close. I could smell the hint of sweat still clinging to his skin from the day’s work, the tinges of sawdust and sage.

His eyes swirled, the blue disappearing completely into the stormy gray. “Thanks for dinner.”

My gaze dropped from Anson’s eyes to his mouth, the lips surrounded by scruff. The ache to know what they would feel like pressed to mine flared hot and bright. The need to know what he tasted like surged.

“Reckless,” he growled.

My focus shot back to his eyes. They flashed, blue streaking through the gray.

“Don’t.”

“I—”

He cut me off with a single look. “This isn’t that. I don’t do relationships.”

Pain flared somewhere deep, the agony of rejection making me start to pull away. But Anson grabbed my arm. His grip managed to be both gentle and firm. But his fingers burned, the contact searing into me.

“It’s not you,” he gritted out. “I don’t do relationships withanyone. Not friendship, not more. Wouldn’t want to saddle a single soul with the fucked-up shit that’s me. But you keep looking at me with those kiss-me eyes, all green and sparking gold, and it’s killing me. Doesn’t matter how much I want to drown in your taste. How much I want to know what it would be like to sink into that sweet heat. I can’t. Iwon’t.”

And then he was gone. Striding out of the kitchen before I could say a word.

The slamming of the door jolted me out of my haze.

My skin buzzed with the phantom energy Anson had left in his wake. I could still feel his fingers wrapped around my arm. Could hear his words echoing in my head.

I was too hot, my skin felt too tight for my body. I squeezed mythighs together on instinct, trying to relieve a little of the ache—one Anson had put there and refused to do a damned thing about.

I was so screwed. And not in a good way.

My feet poundedagainst the floorboards of the Victorian as I raced down the hallway, screaming for my parents, for Emilia. My throat was raw as smoke choked me, but I only screamed louder. No sound came out.

I was almost to my parents’ room. So close. They would be in there. They would keep me safe.

But just as I took the next step, the floorboards gave way with a horrific crack. Suddenly, I was falling, the flames swirling around me and swallowing me whole.

I jerked upright with a cough and sputter, breathing heavily. Biscuit whined next to me, his front paws up on the mattress.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” I soothed as I patted his head. Or maybe I was reassuring myself.

I tried to even my breaths and slow the inhales and exhales, but something tickled my nose as I did. Fear slid through my veins, freezing me to the spot as my gaze jerked to the open window.

Smoke.

I leapt from the bed, grabbing my phone and rushing from my bedroom, Biscuit right by my side. No smoke alarms were going off in the guest cottage, and I’d replaced all the batteries when I moved in. It had to be from outside. A forest fire?

Quickly hooking Biscuit’s leash to his collar, I stepped outside.

A gasp slipped from my lips, and my hand flew to my mouth. The house.Myhouse. It was engulfed in flames.

17

ANSON

I flippedover onto my back, staring at the ceiling. No position seemed comfortable tonight. Sleep wasn’t typically a friend, but it wasn’t usually this bad either.

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