Page 60 of Sterling Stone

“Want to know if there’s a giant S for Superman underneath that stiff shirt.”

His laugh comes a little louder as he slowly unbuttons his uniform, but his tone sobers when he says, “I’m just a man, Taxi. No superpowers. Nothing special.”

I beg to differ, but tonight I don’t have any arguments left in me.

Silently, I watch as he strips off his shirt, peeling back the two halves and rolling it over his shoulders before draping it neatly over the back of the kitchen chair. His belt makes a distinct clatter when he removes it, setting it over the chair, as well, before toeing off his shoes.

He’s wearing a plain white tee beneath the uniform. No S on his chest, other than an invisible one.

One for steadfast, sturdy, solid. Stone.

“You can take off your pants if you’re uncomfortable.” I lick my lips. “If it makes you more comfortable.”

He chuckles again. The sound light, but a little choked. “Still trying to get in my pants, darlin’?”

I laugh, feeling a little lighter myself, before chewing at my lower lip to bite back a response.

When his pants come off, he lays them neatly on the chair seat. In white boxer briefs, he looks like an underwear model, advertising something pure and dignified with all that starkness, but I briefly see the outline of something not so little that gives me impure thoughts.

Looking away, I close my eyes as Stone reaches behind me and tugs the back cushions free from the couch to offer him more space. I don’t know how we’ll both fit on this old sofa and second-guess my suggestion until Stone climbs over me, slipping in between the back of the furniture and my body.

And then, he spoons me. And I do not mean a casual big-spoon, little-spoon nesting together.

Stone Sylver knows how to cuddle.

He slides one arm underneath the pillow and settles his nose against the nape of my neck. Then he drags his hand down my arm and over my hip, where he flattens his palm against my lower belly, pinning me to him.

Back to chest.

Ass in lap.

Knees behind my knees.

He’s lined up with me in every way he can be, including his feet underneath mine, propping the pads of mine on top of his.

He bends the arm beneath the pillow, slips his hand into the robe that’s too big for me, and cups my opposite shoulder. His palm is warm against my heated skin, and he tickles that thick mustache into my nape before mumbling, “Good night, Tallulah.”

In some manner, I should feel trapped by our position, caged in, pinned down, however one wants to define the confinement.

Instead, Stone coiled around me makes me feel cradled, coddled . . . safe even. And while my body first wanted sex as a distraction, to experience his flesh and disappear from my head, the zing zipping down my middle is nothing compared to raging desire.

It’s the slow melt of an ice cap. The trickle of a refreshing stream. The cool mix of deep blue with bland white, resulting in a pretty periwinkle. A color that always feels soft and feminine, and taken care of.

Like Stone does for me.

And I slip into a restful sleep.

23

[Taxi]

In the morning, Stone and I both wake, apparently rested, despite a lumpy couch beneath our sides. My alarm goes off because I want plenty of time to get back to the hospital.

Stone and I are quiet together, giving each other hesitant smiles. I give him privacy to redress while I use the bathroom, giving myself a pep talk about making it through another uncertain day.

While I refuse breakfast, Stone stops in Sterling Falls at his brother’s bakery, Curmudgeon Bakery, where he picks up muffins and coffee.

“In case you get hungry later,” he tells me, taking care of me in another small way. I’ve been solely responsible for myself for so long, his care and concern thrill me in a way that seems almost foreign.