Page 61 of His Pet

AMELIA

Irun my hands through Lorenzo’s hair as he snores beside me. He’s barely been awake the last two days, and when he is awake, neither of us talk about what happened.

He doesn’t kiss me. He doesn’t rub my back or whisper scandalous things in my ear. He doesn’t call me Kitty, and he doesn’t tease.

And I miss it. Not him calling me Kitty, that shit I hate, but the touches, the kisses. I didn’t know how badly I wanted them until they were gone.

I keep telling myself it’s because he’s resting and not because having sex with me meant nothing. Technically, he’s doing what I asked him to do, but surely he knows it was more to me than some deal.

I’m not sure I knew that when I agreed, but I know it now.

I like him. Irrevocably. Against my better judgement. Against mywill.

In the pit of my stomach, swarming with butterflies, and in the depths of my heart I know it’s true. It’s his fucking love for animals that’s done this to me. His fierceness, his sharp canines. His scars. Everything about him should make me run and hide, but all I really want to do is stay here, running my hands through thick, lustrous locks and stare at him while he sleeps.

MaybeI’mthe creepy one.

My hand stills as I stare at the scar running over his right eye. It cuts through his eyebrow and leaves a smooth line to the tip of his cheek.

I move my hand to it, hesitating to touch. I bite my lip and give in to temptation, grazing the white line below his eye.

He stirs, and his brows crease. I snatch my hand away, but it’s too late. His eyes open and he runs a hand over his face, his arm extending in a stretch.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a tired voice.

He’s regained his color today. His olive skin no longer has a gray hue. The fact that he stretches without cringing today is a good sign, also.

“Nothing.”

He sighs and brings his hands to the bed. He drags himself into a sitting position and leans his back against the headboard.

I bring my knees up to my chest and tuck my hair behind my ear. “You look better today.”

“I feel better.” He rolls his shoulders then turns to me. “Actually, I’m ready to get the fuck out of this cabin. We should go for a walk.”

“Sure,” I say, with a little too much enthusiasm. Truth is, I’m ready to get out too. I’m a city girl, but the forest is growing on me.

I hop out of bed and go to retrieve Lorenzo a fresh pair of sweats. He takes them and swings his legs over the side of the bed. When I go to help him up, he waves me away and stands. He pulls on the sweats and then his shoes, his movements slow as he bends. He looks so much better today, and hope flutters in my belly. Or maybe that’s the butterflies.

Maybe today we can finally talk about what happened.

“Ready?” he asks, still shirtless. I nod and lead the way out of the cabin, walking slowly until he gently pushes at my back. One thing I’m learning is hehatesbeing treated like a patient. Or being “babied”, as he calls it.

I pick up my pace and breathe in the fresh air once we’re out of the cabin.

We walk side by side, our hands brushing but neither of us taking the other’s. It’s kind of awkward. I keep waiting for him to speak, but he doesn’t. I glimpse him every so often and can’t help but read into the solemn look on his face.

He regrets it, doesn’t he?

“Is everything okay?” I finally ask, no longer able to bear the awkward silence.

“Of course.” Lorenzo tucks his hands into his pockets so he’s no longer brushing against me. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

I hesitate to respond, but I can’t take this anymore. I’m not a patient woman. My impulses are even stronger than my pride. “I don’t know, maybe because we had sex and you haven’t spoken a word about it.”

Lorenzo glances at me, no emotion obvious in his blank face. “Neither have you.”

I stop walking and Lorenzo takes a few more steps before pausing and looking over his shoulder at me.

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