Page 140 of Eternal
I sit down, but I don’t relax. I can’t. My jaw tightens, my hands curl into loose fists, and I stare at the floor as if I’ll find some kind of clarity in the grain of the wood.
I won’t.
Ishouldleave.
Ishouldfinish what I started.
Ishoulddo exactly what I was sent here to do.
But then… She walks back in.
And all I can think is I shouldkissher.
That’s not normal. I don’t think like that. I don’t care like that. But there she is, hair braided over her shoulder, messy, loose curly strands framing her face like she didn’t bother to check. Oversized shirt, bare legs, tattoos stretching over her skin. She doesn’t look at me when she walks past, heading to the kitchen, but something about the way she moves makes my fingers twitch.
Not with the urge to kill. Not even with the urge to fuck. Something worse.
I don’t want to touch her. I want to…stay. I want to watch her exist, see how she fills a space, what she does when no one’swatching. I want to know why she braids her hair before bed. If it's a habit. If it’s comfortable. If she’d let me do it for her again.
That’s fucking insane.
I’m not built for this. Never have been. Never had the need. Never cared if someone was soft or comfortable or happy. But right now, I don’t want to rip this moment apart. I don’t want to break the easy way she moves around me. I don’t even want to leave.
And that’s a problem. She shouldn’t trust me. She shouldn’t be comfortable around me. But she is.
“Let’s start,” she says, opening the fridge, her back to me. “I’m excited it's been a while.” She's all smiling and gorgeous andfuckshe's ruining me.
I don’t answer. I keep watching her.
I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t be this fucking fascinated.
The way she moves. The way she pulls ingredients from the fridge. The way she stands barefoot on the cool tile, completely unaware of what it does to my system.
It’s only cooking.
It’snothing.
So why the fuck am I still watching?
I push to my feet, dragging a hand through my hair.Reset. Refocus. “I’ll help.”
She scoffs, barely sparing me a glance. “You cook?”
“I can manage.” Truth is, I don’t cook much. Never needed to. No one ever cooked for me, except the team.
She gives me a look like she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t argue when I step behind her. Too close. Close enough to catch the faint trace of her shampoo. To watch the way she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth when she concentrates. And how dare she look that fucking good doing something as simpleas biting her lip? Has it really been this long since I’ve laid a hand on a beautiful woman? Or is it just her?
I should step back.
I don’t.
“You don’t have to stand there, you know.” Her voice is softer this time.
If only she fucking knew.I exhale through my nose, steadying myself. “I’m good here.”
She laughs, light, careless.
