Page 42 of Sweet Doe
“I want to give you everything,” I say, my lips against her temple. “The life you were never offered. Safety. Peace. But I can’t do that until I take care of the rest. The noise. The past. The threats of anything that can take you from me.”
She’s silent, but her hand moves, sliding up my chest until her palm rests over my heart.
“I’ve waited so long for this. For you, and now that I have you,” I whisper, kissing the crown of her head, “nothing gets to take you from me, sweet doe. Nothing.”
The fire pops in the hearth. Wind howls outside like a dying animal. But here, in this bed, she’s soft and warm and wrapped around me. My hand never stops tracing her skin, memorizing her like scripture.
The fear hasn’t gone away. Not fully. But with her pressed to me, heartbeat steady, breath syncing to mine—it fades just enough to let me breathe.
Chapter Thirteen
SLOAN
The champagne bubbles tickle my nose as I take another sip, the golden liquid warming me from the inside out. Outside the cabin windows, snow falls in thick, lazy flakes, blanketing our little world in pristine white. But inside, everything glows with the warm light of candles and the crackling fire Asher built in the stone fireplace.
New Year's Eve.
The thought still seems surreal. Has it really been a week since Christmas Eve? Time moves differently here. It’s not measured in hours or days. It’s measured in sunrises and sunsets, in the amount of things we’re able to accomplish before the sun goes down.
"You're thinking too hard again," Asher observes from his spot on the couch beside me. He's changed clothes for the evening—dark jeans and a soft black sweater that brings out the silver in his eyes. He looks relaxed, almost boyish, except for the intensity that never quite leaves his gaze.
"Sorry." I shake my head, trying to dispel the melancholy that's been creeping in all day. "I guess holidays make me nostalgic."
"Nostalgic for what?" His voice is gentle, curious. We've reached a place where he can ask questions like this without making me feel uncomfortable.
"I don't know. Old traditions, I suppose. Cara and I always used to have this ridiculous New Year's Eve party. Nothing fancy, just the two of us eating too much takeout and watching the ball drop while making resolutions we'd never keep." The memory makes me smile, almost bringing a tear to my eyes. "She'd always say she’d try to date fewer assholes, and I'd always try to be more adventurous."
"Looks like you got your wish," he says softly, and there's something in his tone that makes me turn to look at him.
He's right. This is certainly more adventurous than anything I could have imagined for myself a week ago. Being held captive by a gorgeous psychopath in a mountain cabin definitely qualifies as stepping outside my comfort zone.
"Not exactly what I had in mind," I admit, taking another sip of champagne to buy myself time to think.
"What did you have in mind?"
It's such a normal question, the kind two people might ask each other on any date in any bar in any city. Except we're not on a date, and this isn't normal, and the man asking has chained me to a bed to make sure I wouldn’t run away.
"I wanted to travel," I say, settling deeper into the couch cushions. The champagne is making me talkative. "See Paris, maybe. Learn to cook something more complicated than grilled cheese and tomato soup. Take art classes. Fall in love."
The last part slips out before I can stop it, and I feel Asher go still beside me. Shit. Too much.
"Alex didn't know how to love you," he says quietly, not a question but a statement of fact.
"No, he didn't." The truth comes easily. "But neither do you."
"Don't I?" He turns to face me fully, his eyes searching mine in the firelight. "What do you call this, then?"
"Obsession," I say without thinking, but the word lacks venom. He seems too innocent now.
"Loveisobsession, Sloan. Love is thinking about someone constantly, wanting to know everything about them, needing to be the reason for their smile." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. “I just didn’t ask for permission.”
Permission. Such a simple word.
"You never gave me a chance to give permission," I point out, though my heart isn't really in the argument anymore.
"Because you would have said no." His thumb traces across my knuckles, sending warmth up my arm. "You would have chosen him and convinced yourself that settling for that life was good enough."
It's true. I would have said no.
