“Chance—”
“Just gettin’ comfortable, that’s all.” He brushes a thumb over my lips. “This ain’t the time, and this ain’t the place, okay? Not for that. Not what you’re afraid of.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m notafraidof that, Chance.”
He just grins, lazy, cocky, and teasing. “Yeah, you are. But that’s for later, not for now.” He bends and touches his lips to mine, a ghost of a kiss. “Skirt.”
Swallowing hard, I unzip and unbutton my skirt, then I have to shimmy my hips and tug the hem to get the skirt past my hips. A few dancing tugs, and the denim slips down my legs to the floor. His eyes remain on mine. “Arms out. Do the bra thing.”
I smirk. “The bra thing?”
He shrugs. “You know. Arms inside the shirt, and then voila, there’s the bra.”
I laugh. “Oh. That.”
I do as he suggested—ordered?—arms inside my shirt, unhook it, slip off the bra, arms through sleeves, and then hang the bra off the corner post at the foot of the bed. Shrug my shoulder with my hands lifting palms up. “And now?”
He bends, scoops me up, slips onto the bed and tosses the covers over us. He scoots down, scrunching the pillows under his head. My face is nestled on his chest, my body resting entirely on his. It’s becoming familiar, at this point. Comfortable—and comforting.
His hands rest on the small of my back, in the thin slice of bare skin between my thong and sheer white T-shirt. Roam up. Under the tee, skating over bare skin, exploring my back—scratching up and down, smoothing his palms in circles over my skin.
Comforting.
Tender.
“Chance—”
“Shush, Nik.” His voice is a breath in my ear. “Relax. I got you.”
Nik.
No one’s called me that in so long. Only Mom, Gram, and Erin ever used that diminutive as a nickname for me. I missed it. And I really like it from him.
I don’t have the energy to fight it.
To fight him.
To fight how comforting and soothing he is, how safe and sheltered I feel. He stood with me. Protected me. Went to bat for me, spilled blood for me. Brought me back to my family.
How do I stay above that? How do I avoid feeling things for him when he does things like that for me?
I don’t.
“You scare me,” I admit, the words whispered to the soft warm firmness of his chest.
“I’ll never hurt you, Annika.”
“I know. I don’t mean like that.”
“You mean you’re feelin’ shit, andthatscares you.”
I nod. It’s the most of an admission I’m capable of, at the moment.
“I told you, babe. Igotyou.”
“You’re not scared?”
He lets out a breath. “Sure I am. I saw how Dad was. He loved my ma so much, it drove him to stick with her when it was the worst thing for everyone. He loved her so much, it got him killed and left me an orphan. Objectively, he ought to have let her go, let her have the drugs. Let the drugs have her, more like—right? Shit. Maybe I’d have had a dad if he’d have done that. So yeah, mama, I’m scared fuckin’ stupid of loving someone like he loved my ma. Scared it’ll make me as stupid and blind as it made him.”
