And that scared the hell out of me more than anything.
I didn’t want Skye Adler for just a night.
I wanted her forever.
27
Skye
ItracedthetattoosonFox’s bare chest in the low light from the sconces above the bed. My head rested under his shoulder. His right arm was wrapped around me, tucking me against him. It was late, but I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to. I’d turned off the part of my brain that was rational, that was telling me how very bad of an idea sleeping with Fox was. I ignored the fear clawing inside me like a caged lion, thrashing against the bars and begging me to run.
In this moment, all I wanted to do was bask in the peace he brought. The comfort. I hadn’t realized this feeling had been missing from my life for so long. I’d forgotten it was possible to feel this…whole. Cared for.
Loved.
I hadn’t thought about that word in this context in a very long time, but it had been making its way up from the dead place I’d buried it since the moment I crashed back into Fox Ramsey.
It was ridiculous, really. Sixteen years had gone by since I’d run away from this tiny town. I had thought I’d moved on with my life. I’d grown and made a career for myself. I thought I knew what I wanted.
It was all a facade.
Yes, I loved what I did for work. I enjoyed the journey and learning and doing things I’d only ever dreamed of.
But in many ways, I was incredibly unhappy. I was fulfilled in my career, but when I came home, there was nothing but emptiness. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be alive. To be…happy.
The Ramseys made me happy.
Fox made me happy.
Even after the mess I’d made, this family took me back without hesitation. Without judgment.
I wasn’t used to being accepted, despite my flaws.
Fox’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t sleeping, either. He always snored a little when he was. Sometimes he mumbled a word or two while he was dreaming, and this room was nothing but quiet tranquility.
I continued to trace the lines of black ink across his smooth skin. It still amazed me that he’d gotten so much art imprinted onto his skin. I wanted to know what every line and symbol meant. I longed to know everything about the man who had always taken care of my heart, even when I’d been careless with his.
My hand stilled as my fingers caressed a raised, jagged ridge along the left side of his ribs.
His muscles instantly bunched with tension.
I raised my head, trying to look at the spot I’d touched. “What’s that?”
He didn’t even open his eyes as he grabbed my hand and moved it away. “Nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing, but he didn’t release my hand. He pressed it against his chest, over his heart. It fluttered beneath my palm.
“Fox.” I propped myself up higher to get a better look at his ribs.
A lot of ink was on that section of his body. Over the place on his side where I was pretty sure I’d touched, was something that I could best describe as resembling a spider’s web. Thirteen lines radiated from a central point. Many small precise angles connected them like spokes of a wheel, forming an intricate pattern—like a web, but not quite. It was too perfect to be natural, too sharp.
It was only when I leaned in closer that I noticed it. I yanked my hand from Fox’s grasp, and brushed my fingers near the center of the web. It wasn’t the smooth stretch of muscle that it should’ve been. Under the cover of the tattoo, was an uneven, raised line.
“Is that a scar?” I breathed, my heart pounding.
He let out a long, slow breath, eyelids fluttering open. “It’s nothing, Skye.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
