Page 146 of Summer Love

“Stay,” I say.

He hesitates a moment, then nods. I open the door and go in ahead of him.

We slip into bed. The sheets are cool. Jace pulls off his T-shirt and lies down behind me. He slides an arm around my waist and holds me against him. I feel his muscled chest against my back, his breath on my neck, the heat of his skin through my T-shirt.

His heart beats, slow and steady. His fingers settle on my stomach, flat, and stay there.

I’m a fucking bet.

The line is crouched in a corner of my mind. This time, I don’t fight it.

Jace’s breathing falls into rhythm with mine, or mine with his.

Maybe this can work. Maybe he’s changed.

I fall asleep in his arms.

CHAPTER 46

Summer

SUNDAY

Iwake in Jace’s arms, his hand on my stomach, his breath on the back of my neck, just like before I fell asleep. The light is gray, the sound of the sea distant.

We didn’t make love. We slept.

I turn over in his arms. He’s still asleep, mouth slightly open, hair every which way. He looks younger when he sleeps.

I shift a little, stretch. My right foot objects. Stiff, like every morning since the fracture that stopped everything. I wince and start working it with my thumb.

The bed shifts. Jace opens his eyes and takes a few seconds to register where he is. He sees me and gives a sleepy half-smile.

He goes to get up and his face changes. His hand drops to his left thigh. He rolls onto his side and pushes himself up, bracing on the mattress.

“You okay?” I whisper.

“Yeah. A little stiff.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and works his thigh through his shorts. His fingers press, release, press again, no fumbling.

His eyes drop to my hand clenched around my foot.

“Can I?”

A little self-conscious, I rest my foot on his right thigh—the good one. His hands close around it, warm and callused. He finds the spot without asking. The heel first, then the arch, then the base of the toes, where it pulls most in the morning.

I close my eyes. The pressure is slow, steady, not too hard, not too soft. His thumbs press up along the arch. The tension eases, little by little.

“Good?”

“Mm.”

No better word for it.

I let him. After a while he stops, and his hand goes back to his left thigh. He presses just above the knee. His jaw tightens.

“Can I see it?” I ask.