“Could you … stay longer?” I ask. “Like the night? I respect any boundaries or time you need, it’s just—”
It’s just… I don’t want you to go.
“It just…?” he presses, eyebrow arched and a teasing smile on his lips.
“Hang on, I’m trying to think of an excuse,” I say, drumming my fingers on my knees. What can I tell him that is both going to make sure he knows I don’t want to pressure him to be intimate—and won’t make me sound pathetic. Because that’s how I feel: clingy and awful. Gosh, why can’t I think of a good reason?
“Darlin’, you don’t need one. I’m happy to—”
I shake my head. If he gives me a moment to think, I’m sure I can get creative with this. “The gators,” I blurt.
“The gators?” he asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The arch in his brow is somehow even higher.
“I mean, yeah. It…” I pause. I have no idea where I’m going with this. I’m dizzy with desire and fully aware nothing I’m saying makes sense. “You told me not to … stray from the paths because of them, so you should probably stick around.”
“You’re worried a gator is going to break and enter?” He leans back, the grin on his face both hypnotic and dangerous.
“I’ve heard most of the petty theft in Florida is done by gators,” I say with a shrug. “So, I mean it’s only logical if we stick together.”
“Lies the media wants you to believe.” His response is delivered with the utmost seriousness, his full lips drawn into a thin line before they curve back into what is becoming a familiar grin. Before he busts into laughter. “But I’ll stay. Iwantto stay.”
“Yeah?” I ask, unable to keep myself from scooting closer to him.
“Yes,” he says, closing the distance until our thighs are touching again.
“Okay, well, the bed…” I begin, sizing him up. Gil’s taller than me, and honestly, I don’t mind taking the couch …
“Is yours,” he finishes with a nod. “You don’t need to worry about me, Marina. I’ve slept on more uncomfortable places than an old leather couch.”
“If you change your mind, lock the door on your way out, alright?” I say. “Just take the key and maybe leave it under the mat or—”
“Unless you ask me to leave, I’ll be right here,” he interrupts, his expression flickering with something unrecognizable. “And if I were to hide a key, I’d think of a safer place than that.”
Is that worry on his face? I smile to myself, enjoying the feeling of his concern for a moment. But as we sit together, tension sparks between us like two teenagers ending a date. Do I let myself kiss him again? Do I wait for him to kiss me?
“Goodnight,” he says, his lips brushing against the top of my forehead. As I stand, my knees wobble from under me. I gulp. I’ve never known the power of a forehead kiss, but with the way that little peck is making me tingle from my toes to the top of my head, they could become addictive. Worse than espresso or an energy drink.
“Goodnight,” I whisper, hoping he’ll be right where I left him in the morning.
Chapter 12
Gil
Patience has never been something I’m good at. I’ve been a shameless flirt, invited her to meet my family, and now, I’ve agreed to stay the night. So, why haven’t I been able to tell her the truth? As much as I hate to admit it, it seems Magnus is right. I worry waiting any longer will create complications…
I crave the cool embrace of the springs, but can’t stand the thought of leaving her, not when she asked me to stay. But this terribly awful, old couch sticks to my glamoured skin and tests my resolve. The humidity only makes it worse.
My gaze falls on the open bathroom door; the white enamel tub inside is small, but more tempting by the second, especially compared to this lumpy sack of fake leather I’m literally stuck to. I told her I’d stay put, but getting a little more comfortable doesn’t count as breaking a promise.
I roll off the couch, quietly padding across the room to the bathroom, twisting the tap until it screeches. Water loudly rushes through the old pipes of the small cabin, and I bite my lip, hoping I haven’t woken Marina.
Keeping my glamour firmly in place, I move from the bathroom to the cracked door of her bedroom. The word “stalker” lingers in my mind from my conversation with Magnus, but the thing I can’t risk is surprising her in my true form. I need to know that she’s asleep before I change. I stand in the doorway, and my heart lurches at the sight of her.
Marina looks like an angel, a halo of pink hair spread across the pillow like watercolors on a canvas. She stirs, scratching at the skin of her elbows before curling up beneath her crumpled comforter. In the dim light of the moon, I note the red scaly marks across her skin…
That must be why she’s been wearing all those layers in this heat.
No one back home would dare tease her about something so … trivial. I can’t say for certain, but it appears similar to “scale rash.” Most Gillarians go through it a few times in their lives. I don’t want to pry, but if she’ll allow me, there’s some cream at my place that could give her relief.
