Page 65 of Anything for You
When he did respond, I couldn’t decide what it meant.
“I am,” he said, a gruff whisper stirring my hair.
I pressed my palms over his arm banded around my waist, praying he would know I was here with him. That it was okay he was scared.
And I knew without a doubt I was exactly where I was meant to be.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dorian
Iwoke with the scent of vanilla in my nose and the soft, supple reality of Dove’s sleeping form still nested against me. It was absolute heaven.
It was utter agony.
Extricating myself from the bed had been easier than expected. She hadn’t stirred, and I hadn’t wanted her to. Whatever wreckage of thoughts and feelings I needed to sort through was best done in the quiet and alone.
After letting Bear out, I welcomed the brooding miasma of emotion brewing in me.
All it’d taken was a few days of failing myself and I’d ended up with a nightmare that’d not only been miserable to experience but had also disturbedher.How much longer before I was dragging her down in other ways? How long before she wasn’t only losing sleep and peace because of me,but socialization? Friendships? Sacrificing a life she’d fought for?
I hated that these were the thoughts lingering in my head as I begged the routine of moving around the kitchen to shake me from the sour mood. I’d woken up with Dove in my arms and I didn’t deserve any part of her. Shouldn’t I at least have had the dignity to savor that she’d been so close? That she’d been so willing to offer me comfort?
There was also a decent chance that if she walked out into this kitchen in her pajamas, I would forget all about the reasons I’d just listed for caution, and I hated that, too.
The sizzle of butter in the cast iron pan drew my focus, and I let concentration on the task lull me away from the ragged sensations and memories from last night as I cracked eggs, sauteed onions, sprinkled cheese.
When I turned to the bar with two plates loaded with slices of frittata, a fruit salad, and toast, I startled to see her sitting at the island with a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.
Breath caught in my chest, I slid the plates onto the counter, drinking her in. My god, she was everything beautiful all at once. Soft, strong, gentle, a little sleepy and rumpled still but with hair slipping over her shoulders and down her back.
I loved her hair. I wanted to wrap it in my fists. I wanted her to pin me down and let it fall around us, curtaining off the world and caging us in. I wanted it spread across my pillow, across my chest…
“Morning.” Her blue eyes were vibrant in the morning light and lit with a gleam I couldn’t quite read.
“Morning. Sorry I didn’t hear you. Must’ve been in my own world,” I said, irritated with myself, but not surprised.I’d needed the solace of cooking, the muscle memory takeover of building a meal.
“I enjoyed watching. You were clearly very focused.” She lifted her coffee mug and took a sip, gaze never leaving mine.
I slid a plate toward her. “Hungry?”
She snickered. “Aren’t you tired of feeding me?”
“Never.”
She froze with the fork in hand, then reanimated, moving to spear a bit of frittata. “Really? Never’s a long time.” Her gaze slipped to mine, then back to the food.
She couldn’t understand how deeply I meant it, but I held her gaze for a beat before repeating, “Never.”
We both ate in silence for a few minutes, a comfortable pause to the conversation. Or maybe it wasn’t comfortable for her, but I was so used to the quiet I didn’t realize it?
Was that something else she’d give up for me, if we continued wherever this was heading? Would she give up comfortable silences or eventually, feeling like she could fill them if she wanted? Would she be compelled to grow quieter, too?
“Can we talk about it? Or would you rather not?”
I turned to her, searching for something like judgement or morbid curiosity. It was an uncharitable thought, and of course I didn’t find either. She simply waited, eyes clear and patient.
Did I want to talk about my nightmares? Never, save with Dr. Corrigan. Not with friends, ever. But I owed her that, at least. “Sure.”
