“Oh, wow,” she pants into my ear, her hands falling weakly off my shoulders.
I turn my head to look at her and, once again, I am struck by her beauty. “How are you feeling?” I ask, stroking my hand over her face and brushing away strands of hair clinging to her skin. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No,” she hums, turning her face to mine and looking at me so that I’m staring into those stunning blue eyes of hers. “Is it always like this? Sex?”
“Not always,” I say gently, stroking a hand over her cheek. “It’s only this good when it’s with the right person.”
Her smile lights up her entire face, and I realize it’s the first one I’ve seen on her since we met. It elevates her beauty, and I feel a twinge in my chest, one that calls for me to do everything in my power to keep that smile on her face.
“You’re so beautiful, Rosalie,” I say, brushing my lips over hers, but pulling back before it can deepen. I sit up, then wrap my arms under her hips, plucking her off the bed and carrying her into the en suite. We’re wet and sticky, in desperate need of a bath, but more than that, I want her wrapped in my scent, carrying the smell of my soap on her skin.
But she’s not mine.
I try to reason with the voice in my head. Rosalie can’t be mine. When all this is over, she’ll return to her life and I will remain in this wilderness, far from anyone else.
Alone.
It’s the only way this thing between us can end.
Chapter Five
Rosalie
The nights here are different.
The silence is so loud, it’s almost deafening. It’s the kind of quiet that makes me hyper aware of every tiny sound—the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant chirping of crickets. Even the sound of my own breathing seems amplified.
It’s unnerving.
A little surreal too. At this hour, the room is steeped in darkness. The only light comes from the glow of the moon outside, casting long shadows across the walls and furniture and painting everything in shades of gray and black.
I turn to Beau, soundly asleep and completely oblivious to the chaos boiling in my mind. His breathing is slow and even, that rugged face relaxed in rest. A knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach, a familiar ache that’s been with me all day. I try to push it away, to focus on the comfort of his presence, but it clings to me like a shadow.
“What are you doing, Rosalie?” I whisper to myself as I stare at the man I’ve not only allowed into my body but my heart as well. I trace the lines of his face in the dim light. He’s so handsome, even in sleep, his features relaxed and unguarded.
How selfish. How completely and utterly selfish is it for me to enjoy the company of such a man while my best friend has suffered in the hands of monsters for three days? Three days.
God.
I don’t deserve this.
I don’t deserve to know the pleasure given by these beautiful, rough hands or to feel anything for this man.
I turn my gaze to the window, drawn by the sliver of light. The curtains are closed, but not completely, leaving a gap through which the night sky peeks. I stare through it, wondering if Kristin is somewhere out there thinking of me too.
“Please keep her safe,” I plead to whichever deity is awake to hear me, pulling my knees to my chest and laying my head over them. I start to close my eyes when suddenly, Beau bolts upright, his movement so abrupt that I jump, my heart leaping to my throat. His eyes are wide, scanning the room with a frantic intensity that instantly brings me unease.
I reach out and smooth a hand over his shoulder. “Bad dream?”
“No,” he says sharply, a palpable sense of alarm radiating from him. “Something’s wrong.”
Before I can form a question, his hand is there, pressing firmly but gently against my mouth. His fingers are spread, and I can feel the slight tremor in them. My own breath hitches, trapped behind his palm. It’s then, in the sudden stillness, that I notice it—a shift in the air, and it’s not just Beau who is alert.
I watch as the shadows of two dogs that snuck into the room with us move to the door, standing alert, ears perked.
“There’s an intruder.”
Beau’s words are enough to send a chill rolling down my spine. I try to speak, but with his hand still over my mouth, it all comes out as a jumbled mess.
