Page 26 of Misery

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"Yeah."

But neither of us moves.

The air charges between us.

His eyes drop to my bare legs, then away.

Controlled. Always so controlled.

"About last night," I start.

"What about it?"

"I kissed you."

"I remember."

"You stopped me."

"I did."

"Why?"

He sets down the dish he's washing. Turns to face me fully. "You know why."

"Because I was scared? Drunk?"

"Because you deserve better than a rushed fuck in a safe house while you're running from a cartel."

The crude words should offend me.

Instead, they make heat pool between my legs. "What if that's what I want?"

"Is it?"

I don't know. I've never wanted anyone before.

Never felt safe enough after the attack to even think about it.

But standing here in his kitchen, in his shirt, looking at his scarred chest and dangerous hands...

"I don't know," I admit. "I've never... I haven't..."

"I know."

"How?"

Something flickers across his face. "You have tells. Inexperience shows."

"Is it that obvious?"

"To someone paying attention."

"And you pay attention?"

"To you? Always."

The weight of that word settles between us. Always. Like he's been watching longer than just last night.

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