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“You.” The word, although calmly spoken, sets every part of me on fire. Not only my cheeks and my chest, but also the thing that’s thumping loudly inside said chest.
“You already bought me,” I murmur.
“That’s what I thought, too. Turns out, it’s far from the truth.” He straightens, and I hate how I mourn the loss of his proximity and the way I cling to his airy, sensual scent.
It’ll all go away with time. I have to believe that.
“Go to sleep.” His voice is soothing, warm. Probably the warmest I’ve heard from him. “I’ll be here.”
“No, you don’t have to —”
“I’ll stay. No negotiations,” he cuts me off. “Besides, you will tell me why the fuck you went back there.”
“I just want to be alone.”
“We all know what happened the last time you were left alone, so the answer to that is no.” His features harden, darkening by the second. He shoves a hand in his pocket and when he speaks again, his voice is on the verge of breaking all hell loose, “The thought of what that fucker could’ve done if we hadn’t come in time…”
He trails off as if the words fail him to describe that possibility.
A shiver grabs me by the throat at the thought of what could’ve happened. Would I even be sleeping here if that black shadow had gotten what it wanted? They tried to bury me alive in the past, so maybe they wanted to finish what they started this time.
Jonathan drops onto the chair. “I’m staying.”
Shit.
He really is, and I really need to go. I don’t know where, but I’ll figure it out as soon as I’m out of here.
I always do.
My mind goes into overdrive trying to think of ways to get him to leave. Water and a covered bowl of what I assume is soup sit on the bedside table, so I can’t ask for either of those.
Think, Aurora, think!
“My pillow,” I blurt.
Jonathan is still watching me with that unnerving focus that makes me feel like I’m under a researcher’s microscope. “What’s wrong with your pillow?”
“I want the one from your room. This one isn’t soft.”
“You used to sleep on it just fine.”
“That was a long time ago. I’m not used to it anymore.” Then I speak in a slightly bratty tone, going for the low blow, “My head hurts.”
That works.
He stands, but instead of leaving, he leans over and brushes his lips against my forehead. A shock wave grips my limbs and it takes everything in me not to melt. That’s…that’s the first time he’s ever done something like that.
There’s an unrivalled intimacy about a forehead kiss — the feeling of his lips on my skin, the care in it.
God. Why is he doing that now of all times?
“I’m glad I was there before you were hurt badly. Doesn’t mean I’m letting it go, though.” He straightens, expression blank. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch his retreating form, even after the door closes behind him. The skin where he kissed me still tingles, burning and sending me all the wrong signals.
Shaking my head, I jump up. The world starts tilting, but I plant my feet wide apart until the dizziness slowly retreats.
I don’t have time to waste. Jonathan will return soon, and I can’t be around when he does.
