Page 55 of Resisting my Forbidden Fae

It was difficult to recall much with how fast things had happened, but she relayed what she did recall, particularly the healer’s words. Heat formed on her face when she felt his intense focus on her, and she swallowed and looked away when she was done.

“Did he say what ancient line?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think Marx would, either. I need to see my family tree again.”

“You will. We will.”

“We?”

“You don’t think I’m leaving you alone now, do you?” There it was again—the husky tone that made every word sound intimate, the one that made her insides sing. “Jesus. I hate this.”

Automatically, her hand reached out, no longer able to help it. His was clammy, so she squeezed it and tugged it until he turned to her.

“Think happy thoughts. Think good thoughts. Think of how much we miss home and how we will be there soon.”

“All I can think of are puffy clouds and how they are so damn similar to the clouds outside the plane.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Luckily, she was on a window seat and had easy access to closing it. “Stop looking. Look at me.”

Perhaps that was a mistake because there was that intense focus again. But she knew what he needed and hardened her resolve.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“You know what my favorite food is—”

“Charlie.”

“Steak. Steak with beer.”

“We will have it. A lot of it. And what’s the first thing you want to watch?”

“An action movie. I don’t have to think and can laugh at someone trying to escape the bad guy’s goons.”

“Gritty, gory action, or comedy?”

“Definitely comedy. The ones with the crazy sidekicks.”

The clammy sensation was gone, and he just felt warm. It was crazy how now that they were in a peaceful situation, she could feel the callouses there—could concentrate on each scar he had, on the hard surfaces…on the rough pads that would probably feel like heaven against someone’s skin.My skin.A stark image floated of those fingers gliding over her, so visceral that her hand instinctively retreated. But he wouldn’t let go, grasping it firmly.

“You seem nervous. I know why.”

No, you don’t.

“Don’t be,” he continued. “You will do fine. I’m with you every step of the way.”

But every step in her mind meant those fingers just continuing their quest until they found the secret parts that bloomed at his touch. Imaginary fingers turned to real fingers tracing lines along her hand, an act of soothing. She wasnotsoothed.

“Charlie…”

“Relax. I got you.”

He got her, all right—at the palm of his hands, trying not to wriggle in her seat. His forefinger pressed against hers. The contact felt like it had a direct line to her body, hardening her nipples until she was sure they were stiff, visible points against her clothes. Embarrassment flooded her, but so did another sensation. He kept pressing, kept tapping, each supposedly soothing move acting like a rhythmic pulse that continued rubbing and grazing her nipples. God, but she wanted something to alleviate the ache there, like her hands.Or his tongue—

Daria turned her face away, closed her eyes, and stifled a whimper. She tried to fling her mind to focus on anything else, but most of the people on the plane were preoccupied with their magazines or sleeping. One faint sound slithered its way into her senses, then another. Recognition formed, and she gasped.

Charlie was on her immediately.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Daria?”

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