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His gaze passes over my face, and I wonder if he sees my worry.
The fact that I don’t know what’s going on.
Automatically, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my nose against his neck. He smells like salt and cologne and iron discipline.
How can any man smell so familiar?
Except, I know him intimately.
We’ve explored too much of each other to ever forget.
I even know what’s behind his icy stares and permanent scowls and the rare smiles I cherish.
I know about his mobster uncle ruining his start to life, his traitor ex and her crazy lover.
I know the secrets that keep his heart bound in barbed wire twine.
And I think, maybe, I’ve gotten a glimpse of the real tenderness underneath the bleeding, hurt mess.
His grouchy mask is just that—a front for a hidden warmth and sweetness that makes me feel—
No.
Don’t even think it.
But I do.
After my own little tragedy growing up, after I’ve tried like hell to deny what’s been happening for weeks, it shouldn’t be such a painful surprise.
Shepherd’s arms feel so flipping good around me, proof that it’s deeper than just sparking desire or comfort.
It’s pure love, plain and simple.
And I don’t know what the hell to do with that at all.
The tension locked in my muscles slowly drains away.
“Hey,” I say, breathing the word against his skin.
I need to bite my tongue. Words I don’t dare say aloud want to escape.
We’re not there yet.
Not yet.
Not ever.
If I’ve truly, madly fallen for him, it’s not a love that can grow and thrive. It’s the kind I need to smother, no matter how many tears and emotional bruises it brings.
And I’m already breathing around a scratchy lump in my throat as I inhale him.
“Hey yourself. Sorry I’ve been so busy, but I think you’ll be very happy,” he says.
I’m not so sure.
Nothing compares to having him with me, grumping his way into my life and searing me with rough kisses.
I know it’s ridiculous and it trails me like a shadow in the summery afternoon sunlight splashing over us.
