Page 56 of Before Eve
Take all of my tomorrows—
My forever starts with you
I used to chase the silence
Afraid of getting close
But you see through the shadows
You know the me I don’t
You laugh like it’s magic
You cry and I feel too
There’s no life I imagine
That doesn’t start with you
I continue playing, soaking in the words as his smooth baritone voice flows around us, filling the night with peace and love. When West finishes, I still.
“Those words,” I whisper.
“It’s a work in progress.”
“That’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.”
Something shifts in the air, becoming even more intimate. Taking the guitar, he puts it aside and comes toward me, gently pushing me onto my back and stretching out beside me. His lips part, but he doesn’t close the gap to kiss me. A gentle sigh moves through him as he looks down at me. “Damn, you’re beautiful.”
Oh, my God. This guy.
He lowers his lips, but still, he doesn’t kiss me, and instead hovers just a fraction above. “You’ve turned into my muse.”
I wet my lips. “I-I have?”
“Yes,” he whispers, closing that teeny tiny space to brush his mouth ever so slightly over mine. “Yes, you have.” He trailshis lips over my chin and under to nuzzle there, and I shiver. Who knew a chin could be so sensitive?
“You smell like dryer sheets,” I tell him, immediately wishing I could take it back. Why am I telling him he smells like dryer sheets? First Dove soap and now this.
He shifts closer, not completely on top of me, but almost there. I’m fully aware—and hate the fact—that my back is stiff.
West trails his nose up my neck at the same time he snakes his arm under me and fits me even closer. I tense even more, waiting for him to encounter my scars.
“Have you thought about our kiss,” he asks, his breath brushing my ear.
I jerk a nod.
The arm that’s under me moves down away from my back and my scars, and I take in a soft relieved breath. His fingers massage into the area where my butt meets my leg, and then he trails his hand along the back of my thigh, stopping to flex his fingers, and on down further to grip the underside of my knee. Gently, he brings my leg up to wrap around him and slides completely on top of me.
I go from warm, to hot, to full-on fire. But still, I shiver.
West moves over to my other ear and takes a delicious nibble. “Cold?”
“No,” I croak.
His hand is on the move again—from the back of my knee to my hamstring and right back to my butt—where it stops. But this time he doesn’t massage, he trails his fingers under and brushes them against the seam of my jeans.
I catch my breath.
