“You have no concept of personal space,” she muttered, voice muffled against his skin.
“I’ve been reading,” he said calmly.
“You can read?” she fired back, grumpy.
He ignored her. “And I think you need a hug.”
His tone was analytical, as if he’d researched it and was carefully testing a hypothesis. It made her want to laugh and cry.
He held her tighter.
Neither of them moved.
At first, she remained stiff in his arms, a sarcastic protest poised at the edge of her lips. But then her body involuntarily began to mould to his. The sharp razor edge of her tension dulled. The pressure of his arms around her chest didn’t hurt, it wrapped around her like a bay blanket.
“I think,” she murmured eventually, “you might be onto something.”
He didn’t smile, but his voice dropped a note, quiet and earnest. “It’s not just for you.”
She blinked.
“It doesn’t feel right when you’re upset,” he said, “I get…unsettled. Like the world tilts slightly off its axis. I feel better now.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. So, she didn’t say anything at all.
They both sighed at the same time, that weird synchrony between them rising again like muscle memory.
She inhaled deeply. His scent was addictive—something warm and woodsy with the clean smell of soap and him.
“I hate how good you smell,” she muttered.
“I thought women like to pretend they are not impressed by their man.”
“I am not any woman, and we are not any couple. We only have truth between us,” she replied in a moment of clarity. She didn’t know where those words came from.
He chuckled, low in his throat. “Go to sleep.”
“I will. But first…” She sighed. “Thanks for the soup.”
“You didn’t eat it.”
“You made it.”
“I’ll make better tomorrow. You will want to eat it.”
Her breath softened. Her head sank deeper against his collarbone. He let his hand run up and down along her spine. The pleasure of holding her was like music only he could hear.
And then she drifted again.
Thane circled like a mother hen.
Watched. Waited. Studied.
And when she finally slumped against him, worn down from the weight of whatever was weighing her down, he didn’t move.
He just sat there, counting every exhale she made without pain.
Every sigh that didn’t end in a flinch.
