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But she wasn’t the one whose life was at stake. Climbing onto the bed, she crawled over his legs and straddled his lap. “I know you’re hungry.” She held out her wrist. “Here.”
He glanced at the offering and to her eyes. His pupils elongated, convincing her that he needed this from her.
“It’s okay. I sort of ... like it,” she confessed.
His nostrils flared as his hands closed around her hips, anchoring her closer. He yanked the towel open, exposing her front. Dragging his hands upward, he cupped her breasts.
The tip of his fangs showed as his lips parted. “Does it hurt when your teeth come out like that?” she asked, fascinated.
He shook his head. “No more than cracking a knuckle.”
She glanced at his clothes and pushed his suspenders away. His shirts never had more than three buttons and he never wore a collar. She considered if he’d object to her touching him. “May I?”
He lowered his hands back to her hips and nodded.
She loosened the buttons and tugged the fabric free of his pants. “Lift.” She pulled the material away, exposing his broad chest and rippling abs. Her fingers danced over each muscle. “I think I’m addicted to your body.”
“I could claim the same.”
She smiled, never thinking her body was anything special until he came along. “When you touch me,” she said softly, dragging her finger over the ridges of his six-pack. “I feel so much prettier than I actually am. No one’s ever made me feel that way before.”
His hands tightened. “You’re already pretty, Anna. The first time I saw you, I couldn’t believe my good fortune. If it’s me who makes you feel pretty, it’s only because I give you a clearer reflection of who you actually are.”
Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his. “You’re sweet.”
He edged her back and tilted his head with a stern set of his eyes. “You’re hungry.”
“I’m hungry for more kisses.”
“Annalise,” he warned then frowned. “Why aren’t you eating?”
Closing the towel over her exposed front, she lifted a shoulder. “I’m not hungry.”
“But you are. I can feel it.”
Her stomach had been growling in the shower, but now... “I don’t feel like eating.”
His eyes searched her. “You’re feeling my lack of appetite.”
“Is that possible?”
“I’m unsure, but I know you’re hungry. I know what your hunger feels like.”
“I was hungry, but then...”
He lifted her off his lap and stood, pulling his shirt back over his head and tucking it in his pants. “Get dressed. Our emotions are too close, and you need to eat.”
“What about you?”
He arched a brow. “My needs come second. Where’s your dress?”
Disappointed he wouldn’t be eating first—Or was it drinking?—she dressed and followed him to the main room, where breakfast awaited. The tense set of Adam’s shoulders and his eyes gave away how much the rising sun bothered him.
When they returned to the room, his silence relayed irritability as much as his frustrated emotions vibrating between them.
“How come you can feel my hunger, but I can’t feel what the sun’s doing to you?”
He stood with his eyes closed and his hands against the bathroom door. “I don’t feel your hunger I feel the symptoms of it. Crankiness. Emptiness. Things I’ve come to recognize as hunger.”
She thought of his weariness. Her empathy for him weakened her, but she didn’t actually feel weary. She felt his frustration, his exhaustion, and his bone deep desire to rest.
Placing a hand at his back, she softly said, “Come lie down for a while, Adam.”
He nodded and followed her to the bed. They laid over the covers, her body spooning behind his. She didn’t bother to remove her dress. His exhaustion would allow nothing more than sleep right now.
Her hand rested on his arm, dragging slowly from his elbow to his shoulder. “Try to sleep for a little bit.”
He didn’t argue. And as he drifted off, the ache of his frustration eased to a dull tingle.
She silently rolled to her back and stared at the popcorn ceiling of the motel. How much longer would they go on like this? Maybe this trip was a mistake.
Either her ability to read him had greatly improved or his ability to hide his condition had taken a turn for the worse. It became unavoidably clear that he was not well.
Her brow creased as she glanced at his broad shoulders and still back. Measured breaths stretched the fabric. She kissed the pads of her fingers and pressed them to his spine.
“We’ll fix this.”
He didn’t respond. Looking back at the ceiling, she found herself silently categorizing her personal belongings as if taking an imaginary inventory of her home. What did she need? What could she live without? How would she say goodbye to everyone at Jimbo’s?
She couldn’t recall making the decision, only that the decision had been set. Sometime while he slept, her mind stopped thinking of this journey as a way to do damage control and put her life on pause and shifted to seeing it as a way to leave it all behind.
