Page 40 of Born in Fire
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “No. Stay. Feel… whatever this is.”
I meet his gaze, seeing my own confusion and wonder mirrored there. “We’re breaking our patterns.”
“Yeah. Scary, huh?” His smile softens the admission.
I reach up to touch his face, memorizing the contours for my next drawing.
“I think I like it.”
“I think I do too.” He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Though it may kill me.”
I don’t ask what he means. Some part of me already knows that whatever is happening between us is dangerous—not in theway Tyler was dangerous, but in how it threatens the careful walls we’ve both built around ourselves.
For now, it’s enough to lie here in the morning light, feeling more myself than I have in years, with a man who somehow sees me more clearly after just a few days than Tyler did in a year.
Later, I’ll deal with security installations and police reports and all the practical aspects of reclaiming my life. But right now—this moment—is about recognizing that the most important security system I’m rebuilding is my trust in my own instincts.
And right now, every instinct tells me that Dorian Craven, for all his mysteries, is exactly where I need to be.
Chapter 12
Dorian
I release her hand reluctantly, then stretch out on my back. “We should probably get up.” I turn my head to look at her. She has the longest lashes I’ve ever seen.
God, she’s beautiful.
“I know.” She wrinkles her nose. “I gotta get to the Bean.”
“Would a back scrub be enough incentive?” I wink at her.
“A back scrub might stop me from getting to work at all.” She giggles, then clambers out of bed.
I watch appreciatively as she makes her way across the room, the morning light streaking the line of her back and the softly rounded globes of her ass.
“You coming?” She looks over her shoulder at me before disappearing into the small adjoining bathroom.
Oh, hell yeah!
Minutes later, steam billows around us as warm water cascades down Juno’s back. Her eyes close as I work shampoo through her silky curls, my fingers massaging her scalp.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” she murmurs, leaning into my touch.
“Surprising because?”
“I don’t know. You strike me as the type who has people wash your hair for you.”
I laugh. “At fancy salons where they charge three hundred dollars for a haircut?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I like it. You have incredible hair.” I feel the texture between my fingers like wet silk.
She scoffs lightly. “Hardly. It’s just… sandy.”
“Bullshit. I love it.”
Water sluices over her shoulders as I rinse the suds away.
