“Is flexibility that important to you?” I eventually whisper, if only to ease the tension that tingles through my body and raises pinpricks of anticipation across every inch of flesh.
Dax doesn’t tear his eyes from my thumbs. I press them into the juncture between my thighs. The pressure is good. Better still with his full attention on me.
“So very fucking important, Jules. You have no idea.”
We are so caught up in each other that neither of us acknowledges the front door opening or the flighty wisp of white that flies toward the car, not until it slams into Dax’s door.
Two delicate palms slap against the glass, snapping us out of our haze. Dax’s arm darts up across my chest to pin me to my seat. I clutch him to me with one hand and strangle the door handle with the other. Seconds later, he drops his arm to his side; the movement accompanied by a soft groan.
“It’s just Sylvie.”
“Who? Oh.”
“Try to rememberflexibility, Jules,” Dax warns, but avoids meeting my eye. Gone is the fantasy of our bodies wrapping around each other and instead the word reminds me of another of grandmother’s sayings:Even the sharpest teeth can’t bite water. Is that the kind of flexibility Dax means? Going with the flow so thatI don’t come under fire?
He opens the door just as the young woman steps back. She wraps herself around him, as soon as he is out of the car, crushing herself to his chest with octopus-arms noosing around his neck.
I watch uncomfortably. The heat within me turned cold the instant she hit the glass, but now that cold slugs through me. I’m empty. Confused.
They make me a voyeur.
Rather than continue to watch them, I climb out of the car and make a show of straightening my clothing. I’m a mess compared to the elegant creature wrapped around him.Sylvie. He speaks her name in that same way he said mine only this morning; with the air of combined indulgence and frustration.God, that seems so long ago.It feels like I’ve lived whole lifetimes between then and now.
“Sylvie,” Dax says softly, lowering her to the ground and swivelling sideways to include me in their sights. “You remember Juliet?”
The bitter hue of embarrassment creeps up my skin.
“The one who saved Tom?” Her eyes widen to take me in. She hesitates over my torn cargo pants, my stained shirt, the bruise on my face, and the mess of hair slipping its ponytail. As I expect, not just from someone as put together as her, but from everyone outside the Vale, her lip curls, and her nose scrunches in distaste. I try not to take it personally.
I fail.
It doesn’t help that Dax didn’t warn me she’d be here or explain who she is to him.
He watches me too. He doesn’t much care how she reacts to me, but he cares how I react to her and whatever he reads from my face amuses him. “The very one,” he says for Sylvie’s benefit.
She darts toward me, and I only have enough time to stiffen in preparation for her attack. She flings her arms around me and hugs me tight.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for saving Tom,” shewhispers beside my ear. Her falling tears wet both our cheeks. She has me questioning which of her reactions is real.
“As I am sure you can imagine, Jules has had an exhausting and difficult day.” Dax distracts her from her vice grip and gives me the chance to breathe when she loosens her hold to listen. “I want her to stay with us until we find out what happened to Tom.” The girl nods, satisfied with Dax’s suggestion. “I’ll show her to a room and have a talk with her, and then tomorrow you can give her the tour. How does that sound?”
“Sure!” she agrees amiably, stepping back to give us both some space.
“Great.” Dax smiles encouragingly. “For now, run back up to bed. You don’t have any slippers on, and you’ll catch a cold in just your nightdress. I’ll be up when I am done with Jules and let you know how Tom’s doing.”
“You went to see him? Without me?” Damn, even her pout is beautiful.
“It was a last-minute decision. I’ll take you soon. As soon as it is safe.”
She makes a grumbling noise under her breath but paces across the drive to the door. Her bare feet slap aggressively against the ground, but she doesn’t say another word to either of us.
“This way.” Dax holds out his hand and gestures toward the door. I keep my distance, unhappy that he still hasn’t offered any explanation for who the young woman is.
I thought we were flirting in the car. I thought that his fiery glances and suggestive words meant he liked me—that he wanted me—but the gentle way he speaks to her and the way she confidently wraps herself around him suggests I’m wrong.
I should have expected it. He made a similar U-turn earlier. But then, so did I.
Is it really a huge surprise? Who am I but a loser from the Vale caught up in something I can’t handle? Honestly, what was I thinking entertaining a notion like that anyway?
