Page 72 of Stealing Blinds

Sylvie: That was an invitation to sleep beside me. So you won’t be lonely.

I climb out of bed, throw a pair of gray joggers over my boxer briefs, and stroll at a pace that attempts to hide my vision of bursting through the wall and devouring her. She smiles when I let myself in. But I can’t make out much else since the room is dark, bathed only in the silver glow of moonlight and some twinkling city lights.

When I reach the empty side of the bed, I realize that like some sort of wicked temptress, she’s wearing my T-shirt. And nothing else. Maybe panties.

Fuck.

Tonight is for sleeping though. I want to build trust between us, so I shed the joggers, slink beneath the covers, and stretch out my arm to entice her to snuggle up with me. She chews on her lip, analyzing another decision to death before ultimately landing on joining me. The second her head hits my chest, with that silky brunette mane, I breathe—really breathe—for the first time.

Ever.

“Is this okay?” she whispers. Maybe she’s wondering because my heart is hammering her temple.

“Perfect.”

She sweeps her thumb over my rib cage, testing. “Are you a cuddler or someone who likes to be connected for a few minutes and then have your own space?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never …”

Much to my dismay, she extracts herself from that perfect spot on my chest, lifts up on her elbow, and stares at me, shadows clinging to the curves of her face. “You’ve never, what, cuddled with someone?”

“I’ve never held or slept beside anyone.”

“I can’t wrap my mind around that.” She watches me for a long time, but she finally lays her head back where it belongs. “Okay. I guess we’ll figure it out.”

I squeeze her against me while my other hand skates over her arm in a soothing back-and-forth rhythm. “You’ll have to take it easy on me since I’m a virgin snuggler. But I think I’ll want to hold you all night.”

She expels a ragged breath, and then she’s quiet for so long that my mind conjures various ways I’ve already fucked this up, until she shatters the silence with, “I’m damaged.”

“What?”

Her throat bobs against me with a thick swallow. “I probably shouldn’t be your first try at this. I’m not—”

“You’re certainly not damaged,” I break in, realizing not all the distance between us is because she lacks faith in me. “You’re fucking incredible. You master every damn thing you do.”

“That’s just skill or talent.” She hitches a shoulder, like it’s nothing. “But I’m … I tried. The whole time my dad was in prison, I fought so hard to stay strong and positive, even though I felt hollow. And after he was killed, I went off the rails, but eventually, I found the strength to pull myself together for my mom and sister and a man who promised a legitimate life that still seemed exciting. But then I lost the baby and my sister, and I threw a steal-a-national-treasure tantrum that led to this mess. I’m a thief who’s had everything I’ve ever loved stolen from me. Other than my mom. I’m better alone.”

I play her words over and over in my head, wishing I could access the kind of response one of Jax’s therapists would offer, and eventually settle on, “I’m sure it feels that way.”

“I’m sorry for the mixed signals.” She draws circles and figure eights on my pec, bicep, and shoulder—heaven. “I don’t want you to believe I’m not feeling something. I just can’t …”

I string my fingers through her hair, hoping to extend the same tranquility she’s bestowing on me. “Don’t be sorry. Let’s take this one moment at a time. Tonight, I’ll hold you. Tomorrow, we’ll check off another task toward paying your debt. There’s nothing else to worry about.”

“Okay.” She curls herself around me, tangling our legs and nuzzling her face against my chest, her heart pounding in tandem with mine. “All night?”

“All night, baby,” I promise into the dark room, and for a long stretch, it’s only moonlight and scratches and our even breaths. And me, stewing over what a greedy asshole I am.

I’ve gone my whole life barely caring about a woman’s name when I fucked her, only to end up here—terrified that the girl in my arms will never truly give me all of her. And while I’ve fantasized about having Sylvie in every goddamn position and setting imaginable, that’s not the only aspect I’m yearning for.

But in the quietude, she paves a way. “What are your nightmares about?”

Her mother’s wisdom from our office chat slams into me. “If you want Sylvie—really want her—then you need to be willing to lose as much as she thinks she could. You’re both gamblers. Ante up.”

So, I do something else I’ve never done.

“My mom,” I start, “she wasn’t supposed to be at home the night of the fire. My siblings and I—Maddox on down—were flipping channels at our lake house. We saw our main house on the news. A reporter standing in front of the blaze and fire trucks. It was a big deal because of who my dad was. The reporter said two bodies had been pulled out. Maddox insisted my father had one of his whores there. It was a logical conclusion. My father was a monster and a cheating bastard. But I knew. I don’t know how, but I … it’s like I heard her.”

It takes me a minute to gather myself, but Sylvie doesn’t press. She keeps mindlessly drawing shapes on my skin and breathing with me.