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“Forgiveness isn’t something you can just return to a person. You have it, whether you like it or not.”
The throbbing in my head intensifies and I try to breathe through it as I massage my neck harder.
Suddenly, a twinge of pain whips down my spine and the muscle between my neck and shoulder cramps. Wincing, I sway to the side. Nausea hits me, and black dots float in my vision.
Dropping the shovel with a loud clank, Ellister is at the ladder in less than three seconds. “Don’t move. You might fall.”
I hadn’t considered that.
Earlier, when I’d asked him to help me up the ladder so I could watch him from above, I’d only been thinking about having a great view.
But yeah, someone with the tendency to pass out shouldn’t be sitting on the edge of anything they could fall from.
The soothing effect Ellister has on me has left me with a false sense of confidence. He makes me feel so good, I actually forgot how sick I am.
HANNAH
Before I can plummet to an early grave, Ellister’s at my level, and his arm hooks around my waist. Dragging me back away from the ledge, he leans me against a rolled-up sleeping bag next to a large heap of spare camping gear that’s been collecting dust up here since spring.
He kneels next to me.
“Where does it hurt?” While his worried eyes roam my face, his hand replaces mine on my neck, and he feels around a little. Almost as if he can sense my pain, he settles on the exact spot where my trapezoid muscle spasmed. “Here?”
I nod, bliss rippling over my entire body when he starts squeezing the area.
It’s literally the best thing I’ve ever felt.
When his thumb runs along a tendon in my neck, I can’t even keep my eyes open, and a tiny moan slips out.
“Better?” Ellister whispers, his voice kind of husky.
I make an incoherent sound that’s supposed to be a confirmation, and I somehow manage to mutter, “Keep going.”
He does.
His fingertips dig and knead at my aches until they’re completely gone.
And once again, I’m submerged in Ellister.
All my attention is on him. Every bit of focus I have is concentrated on his touch, his scent, and the way he lights up different pleasure zones on my body.
When my heart races like this, and my skin tingles all over, I understand why pretty much every song ever written is either about love or losing it.
Love. I don’t love Ellister. I can’t. I hardly know the guy, but that doesn’t make the infatuation any less real.
His touch becomes lighter as he trails his finger over the slope of the side of my neck, and it’s just as good as the massage.
When he tries to pull his hand away, I grab his wrist and keep him where he is. “Don’t. Just touch me.”
“Hannah.” Raspy and desperate, Ellister’s voice sounds like a plea, and I can feel his breath tickling my cheek.
When I peek at him through slitted eyelids, I notice how close he is. If anyone were to find us face-to-face like this, they’d probably think they interrupted an almost-kiss.
Working his jaw, Ellister gives me a conflicted look that causes another one of those adorable wrinkles on his nose. And because he’s near enough for me to do it, I reach up and smooth it out.
His eyes cross as he zeroes in on my finger, and it quickly becomes apparent that he’s not amused because his frown becomes more severe. “What are you doing?”
“Did you know sometimes you get the cutest little line right here?” Giggling, I rub the place again.
