Page 64 of Slow Burn

Lyla doesn’t speak for a few seconds, and I wonder if she’s figured it out yet.

“Which one?” she asks.

“Cassiopeia.”

Lyla shifts and lifts herself so she’s propped on her elbow, looking at me. I don’t need to say anything, or ask anything more to know that she’s already figured it out.

The tattoo is for her.

“The night we…” she says, her voice trailing off.

“Yes.”

The night we sat outside on her roof under the stars.

That was the last time anything felt normal. Because her parents died shortly after, and Lyla changed, as anyone would. It seemed like all she could focus on was getting out of Sage Valley. But Cassiopeia always reminded me of her. A queen, banished to the skies for proclaiming how beautiful she and her daughters were. I think Cassiopeia was misunderstood, and, like most women, damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.

Never understood.

Always mistaken for too much.

Just like Lyla.

Her shrink-wrapped brown eyes dart back and forth between mine. “It’s always been me, hasn’t it?”

A lump forms in my throat that I swallow down before I can speak. “It’s always been you.”

I press my lips to her forehead and she settles back down, still tracing the M on my pec with her featherlight touch. I hug her close, squeezing a little tighter before I have to let her go.

“I’m sorry, Trouble,” I say, pulling myself away from her. “Gotta get to work.”

She sits up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest and watching me as I head into the bathroom to grab my clothes. They’re still wet, since they were left in a pile overnight and not hung to dry. Shit. I’ll have to run back to the house in my boxers, and pray no one sees me.

No one like Austin.

As if reading my mind, Lyla asks, “Are you going to talk to him today?”

I will have to talk to him, and I still haven’t figured out how I’m going to even face him after last night.

“I will,” I say. “I just need to figure out how.”

“Do you think it would be better coming from me?” she asks, and I huff a laugh.

“I wish. This is something I have to do,” I reply. “And as much as your firecracker personality is my favourite thing about you, this conversation needs a tactful approach.”

“He’ll understand,” she says, but she knows a different version of Austin than I do. “He’s protective of me, but he’s not possessive. Not controlling. More than anything he wants me to be happy. You, too.”

“I know.” Austin isn’t a bad guy, he’s one of the best guys I know. When he likes you. “Just give me time, okay? You know I’m not good with words, so I want to think about it.”

Lyla gets out of bed and strides toward me, still stark naked from last night. The way the morning sun hits her skin makes her look like she’s glowing from within.

God, she’s fucking beautiful.

She stretches up and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Keeping it a secret is hot, anyway.”

I manage to make it back to the main house without being spotted by any of the ranch hands, carrying my balled up clothes in front of me in case the thought of Lyla naked and kissing me on the cheek, uh, wakes me up again.

Sliding the door open, I tip toe inside. The morning light in the kitchen is blue, shadowed. No sign of life yet.