Page 24 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
Once again, that fist of sympathy clamps around my heart. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me. You realize that, right? I’m immune.”
“I know.”
The statement is sparse, and yet a world of meaning layers itself into the syllables. He sounds both desolate and relieved, and underneath it all, thankful to be sharing space with me.To be freed for these few stolen moments from the burden of his curse.
I like it, too. Knowing I’m just a girl right now.
I draw up my knees and hug them close. Jack eventually lets go of a breath, so deep and prolonged it must empty his entire body of air.
He begins to brush.
He starts with the ends, just like Minnie always does, then works his way up. A few times, his gloved fingers brush against the nape of my neck. Each time, a shiver trills through my bones. Memories of our encounter in the carriage rise to the surface.
I let them flow. Ultimately, I might have to resort to kissing him again, because some internal directive took over for him in that moment, a hemmed-in hunger that broke loose and swallowed him whole. He was driven by pure need. I tasted it on his tongue.
Maybe I could reach that part of him again.
The brush rises and falls. I close my eyes, soothed by the swish of bristles, then by the gentle tug as he moves on to the plait. He’s careful not to touch my scalp, despite his gloves, but it’s something. A start.
And it feels incredible, really. There’s something oddly intimate about letting a man do this, even if it’s the unlikeliest of circumstances—me sitting by the fire in my nightgown, being attended to by my Null kidnapper.
When Jack finishes, he passes the brush back over my shoulder. I take it. I expect him to get up, but he doesn’t, so I wait, my breath held.
After half an eternity, his hand grazes the back of my neck.Or rather, his glove does. Leather glides against skin as he runs his thumb across my nape.
“It’s lopsided,” he says, and there’s something wrong with his voice. Something strained. “The braid, I mean. Sorry.”
I swivel around and look up.
His hand falls away. He stares down, his face swathed in shadow, the chair angled in such a way that the wingback casts him into darkness.
But I can see well enough to tell he doesn’t spare a glance for my triquetra, even though my keyhole neckline offers the perfect viewing window. And the way he’s looking at me…
“Thank you,” I say.
Jack swallows, his throat a ripple of shadow and firelight. “You’re welcome.”
When he doesn’t move, I rise up onto my knees. His breath catches in his throat. His gloved fingers curl into fists atop his thighs.
A heady tingle sheets through me. He seems so...affected by me. By this. And I’m not as immune as I’d like to be, because the moment writhes and sizzles. I never stare at people this intently, yet right now, I would have more difficulty looking away.
What is it with these Nulls and their raw magnetism?
“Where were you, today?” I murmur.
“Disposing of the duke’s carriage.”
I blink. Right.
“He’s sent men out looking for you.” He rushes through that explanation as if hoping it will save him. From what, I can’t say. “They were in the woods today. Searching.”
I ease back on my heels, sobered by that. “They’re welcometo try. But they won’t find me. Not when I don’t want to be found. I’m too lucky for that.”
His lips press together. “You don’t want to go back?”
“No. I’d do anything not to.”
His gaze flickers away, and the moment of connection passes. “Well, your luck might hold when I’m not here. But with me sitting in this chair, and you doing”—he clears his throat and waves a hand—“that...anything could happen. They could find this place.”
