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“I need time to think, Fox.” My body tells me one thing, but my head whispers another. Half a lifetime of hatred for them is not so easily erased.
He eases back, sits on his chair, and spears fingers through his hair. “Of course.”
Those two little words do more for me than anything else. He’ll wait for me. This demigod of darkness will wait until I tell him I’m ready.
I could walk out right now, and despite everything he’s confessed, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll let me go. But if he thinks I’m in an ounce of danger, he’ll find me.
Go to him.
That damn ache in my chest is back, making demands.
Touch him. Be one with him.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe we are fated.
Yes. This is what you’re made for.
My parents hated each other, but look how they turned out. They’re still hopelessly in love.
“Okay, maybe I have one other question,” I blurt, needing to change the subject. My thoughts flit to the gouge marks on his ceiling. I perch on the table, stretching my legs again beside his chair.
His gaze lingers on my bare legs. “Anything.”
“What were you counting? I’ve seen the tally marks.”
A bashful blush stains his cheeks.
“Oh, now I have to know.” A teasing smile tugs at my lips. “You saidanything.”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Promise. I won’t.”
His lips press together, and he shakes his head.
“Fox,” I warn. “Tell me.”
He covers his face with his hands.
“Seriously? You want to play coy?” An indignant laugh chuffs out of me. “You don’t know me well if you think I’ll give up.” I grit my teeth and yank on his hands. He holds them firm on his face. “Grr.Fox.” Another tug. He giggles.Well-damngiggles. Competitive outrage fills me. “Oh, game on.”
I launch off the table and onto his lap, using every ounce of my strength to wrestle his hands from his face. Each time he thwarts me, our hysterics increase. He’s too damn strong to beat in a tug-of-war, and I almost give up, but then my elbow slips and digs into his ribs. His giggles intensify.
“Ticklish,” I gush. “Ooh, you’re ticklish!”
Unluckily for him, I have two sisters who are the same. I terrorize his vulnerable torso with my fingers, digging and stabbing all the soft spots until he’s a squealing ball of giggling nerves. “Stop, stop!”
“Never,” I declare, and increase my efforts. “Unless you tell me what I want to know.”
With his hands on his face, his armpits are exposed. I’m not a squeamish girl. I don’t give a shit about hair or male sweat. My lips curve, and I go for them. He throws his head back, roaring and half squeaking with laughter.
“You’re a little mouse!” I tease, tickling. “Squeak squeak.”
His grin deepens his dimples and lights up a face that looked so forlorn and dejected moments ago. His joy is an arrow to my heart, burrowing deep, hooking its barbed head into the core. He takes advantage of my pause and bands steel arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. He presses our bodies together hard, enforcing the friction where I straddle him.
We don’t need to break eye contact to know we’re both extremely aroused. I have no underwear on, and his thin cottonpants rapidly dampen where his erection presses against me. He flexes. I gasp. A thousand sparks shoot fire around my body. Within seconds, I am breathless and prickly with desire.
Fox’s long, shuddering groan blooms against my lips.
