“Good morning,” I breathe, stretching out as distant memories of last night come flooding back, but it’s cut short by the husky sound of him snickering.
“It's almost lunch, but sure. Good morning,” he replies with a soft smile as he leans against the bottom post of my bed, scrubbing a hand over his cropped hair as I nestle into my sheets with a sigh.
“I don't remember passing out,” I admit, basking in the remnants of my dream as I blink up at him, slightly delirious. The sheets brush against my bare skin, reminding me that I am completely undressed underneath.
“I think the magic you tapped into completely wiped you out,” he admits, stuffing his hands into his sweatpants pockets, but my gaze is drawn to his bare chest, every ridge and ripple luring me closer.
“And is that good or bad?” I breathe, trying like hell to remain focused on the topic at hand, but it's easier said than done when his body is on display; pure distraction.
“Honestly?” he starts, waiting until my gaze meets his, and I nod. “I don't know,” he admits, pressing his lips into a thin line like he doesn't like the answer as much as I don't. “How are you feeling?” he asks, tilting his head at me with concern, and I smile.
“Okay.”
“Good,” he says with a nod, as if reassuring himself more than me.
Raking my teeth over my bottom lip, I try to look anywhere but at his body on display. “Where are the others?” I ask, glancing at the door.
“Baron had to take Alaric out for a flight, and Teddy and Archer are trying to deal with their situation.”
My fingers curl into the bedsheets. I don’t fully understand what that was about last night. I don’t know their home lives, and there’s a tiny part of me that feels guilty for the fact, but I swallow it down and focus on the present instead.
“You don't have to stay if you have other things to do,” I offer, my gaze tempted back to him.
“I’m right where I want to be,” he breathes, and I fail to hide the smile that curls the corner of my lips.
He clears his throat, taking a seat beside me as he braces his elbows on his knees. “So, regretting going to the meeting?” he asks, and I scoff.
“That feels like the easiest part of yesterday,” I admit, and he hums in agreement.
“Any questions about it?” he adds, and my mind swirls with plenty, but lingers on the reminder of what was mentioned about my brother's mate.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him about it, but I bite my tongue, opting to save that question for the man himself. When the time is right, I can talk with him. I don’t want any second-hand information when it comes to my brother’s pain.
Despite the madness swirling in my mind, I shrug. “I don't think so.”
“Well, you've handled yourself impeccably,” he declares, lacing his fingers together, and I preen under his attention, absorbing the compliment.
For the first time, it’s not a criticism about my appearance, how I presented myself, or how I engage with others, and it hits my chest in a way I can’t describe.
“Thank you,” I breathe as he inches closer, reaching for a loose curl of hair. He plays with it mindlessly as silence lingers in the air for a beat. “What are you thinking about?” I ask when seconds turn into minutes and his attention doesn't return.
“You don't want to know,” he says with a huff, his tone clipped but guarded. There’s something about it that claws at me for more.
“Try me,” I push, and his eyes darken as his gaze lands on mine.
“Ivy,” he warns, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Sax,” I retort, watching as he brushes his tongue along his bottom lip.
A mischievous grin curls the corner of his mouth as he peers down at me. “You just want me to say it because you can’t,” he states, making my heart race.
“I don't know what you mean,” I rasp, and he snickers.
“I can smell your heat.”
What I can only imagine is a bright red blush creeps across my cheeks, and I quickly move to hide my face in my hand, but he grabs my wrist before I can shield myself.
“Don't hide,” he insists, waiting for my eyes to find his once again before he nods. “What areyouthinking about?” he pushes, returning the insistence my way.
