Page 100 of Careless Whisper

Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting lazy golden lines across Cain’s bare chest. The sheet is tangled low around his hips.

I can’t believe I’m in his bed. My boss’s bed.

I flush at the thought.

Last night was special. The best night of my life. And that isn’t hyperbole.

His fingers trace my skin with reverence, over the scars he can’t see or feel.

“Are you sure, sweet thing?” Cain whispers, his breath warm against my neck, those kind blue eyes searching mine for any hesitation.

I nod, unable to find words as my heart hammers against my ribcage. It's been so long since I've been touched without flinching, since I've invited someone into this space—my body, my broken places.

“We can stop anytime,” he promises, brushing a strand of hair from my face with such gentleness that tears spring to my eyes.

“I don't want to stop,” I whisper back, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice, my heart.

When his lips meet mine, there's no demand, no taking—just an offering. His hands cradle my face like I'm something precious. I never had that before. Ever.

Now, in the light of the morning when passion isn’t fueling me, I’m so grateful that he’s here. I didn’t know it could feel like this, a quiet hum of belonging.

His breath stirs the hair at the nape of my neck, and I smile again, feeling safe, warm, whole.

When you grow up in foster care, you don’t have anyone permanent in your life—everything is transient, transactional.

His hand curls possessively over my stomach. I feel a shiver run through me. The faint stubble on his jaw brushes my temple when he shifts, murmuring something half-asleep and unintelligible.

Last night had been something out of a dream.

It isn’t just about the way he touched me—it was that he sees me and still wants me.

I close my eyes again, letting myself believe this could be the beginning of something.

That it’s not just lust.

Not just a fling.

Something more.

Somethingreal.

A few hours later, reality snaps its jaws shut.

CHAPTER 2

The Nightmare Begins

FAITH

Itie my apron, still walking on air. It’s the best day of my life—because of how it started.

My heart feels full to bursting.

I work for Cain at his restaurant slash diner, Ripley’s Eat It or Not. The name is an ode toRipley’s Believe It Or Notand fits perfectly with Cain's sense of humor and this small town’s quirky charm.

Six months ago, after Seattle spat me out broken and bruised, I stumbled into Silverton, Oregon, population five thousand, hoping to catch my breath. Instead, I found something more—a safe harbor where I could exhale.

With just two hundred dollars in my pocket, I got off the Greyhound in a town I’d never heard of before.

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