Ana stared at him. “What? Get away from the killer?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve already told me how you would kill me. If I were your murderer, how would you go about turning the tables?”
“Thought I’d proved that when we went to the prison,” she replied suggestively.
A knowing smirk rose on his lips, and she hated the seductive look he gave her through that stray hair that liked to fall over his eyes. “Foreplay, baby,” he said. “You know I like watching you run.”
“You like feeling my pulse race,” she said pointedly.
Sam looked like he was resisting smiling outright, and his tongue darted out over his curling lips as he hung his head. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
“You could very wellbea serial killer,” she said. “Why would I reveal to you how I’d escape?”
“You think I’m a serial killer?”
“You leave at the same time every night. I’ve seen you with blood on your face and arm before. You’re a demon. You’re well-liked in the community.” Ana shrugged. “It’s the perfect cover-up.”
“Let me get this straight,” he said, shifting in his seat, arm throwing over the back of the couch in her direction. “You think I go out every night when I leave you to murder people, and yet you’re perfectly fine dating me?”
It was Ana’s turn to resist a smile. “Okay, we don’t have to call out everything wrong with that statement, but the short answer is yes,” she argued.
“Wow,” Sam mocked her.
She threw a pillow at his face, and he jerked her into his lap.
Ana resisted as she laughed, but Sam was stronger, and he dragged her straddle over him. For a brief second, neither moved. There was only their heavy breaths and smiles between them. A smile Ana had thought she’d once forgotten, and yet, every time she was with him, there it was.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SAM HAD NEVER counted days or hours before.
But he counted them when he was without her.
He counted minutes.
He counted stars.
And when he was with her, he counted every breath.
He counted every smile.
He counted the stretch marks on her belly, her breasts, her thighs. Kissed them all and worshiped all that she was after. He counted the scars beneath the tattoo on her thigh that she had tried to hide from him at first. But he’d seen them while she was sleeping. He knew those scars… He knew the tattoos over them were a disguise to shadow over such a time in her life, but he didn’t press making her talk about it. He hoped she would… maybe in time.
They’d fallen asleep after having lunch in the bed. He was enjoying their lazy day, enjoying just being in her company without a schedule or need to go somewhere.
In the back of his mind, though, he wished they’d been sharing this day in his own bed. In his own castle. Surrounded by the dust and roses and smells that he loved. He knew she would love them too, and maybe—
Ana stirred at his side, her nails scratching his stomach just enough to cause chills to rise over his skin. He sucked in a breath, his abs flinching, and her chuckle rattled his chest.
“Easy, baby,” he groaned, hips rolling slightly.
Ana shifted and sat up, a yawn stretching her arms wide and causing a loud moan to leave her. Sam’s brows elevated at the release of it, how she did not hold back and allowed herself to let go in front of him. Side to side, she cracked her neck, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her sleepy figure.
He’d memorized how her body curved, how her hips dipped and her back arched. He wanted her body on canvas and displayed for the rest of the world to see.
“You’re staring again,” Ana teased as she rose from the bed and pulled the oversized wool cardigan over her arms.
Sam smiled slightly and looked out of the window. It was hard for the untrained eye to tell the time of day by the clouds in the sky, but Sam knew. It was an hour to sunset, which meant they’d spent more than half of the day in the bed. And as he stared out of the window to the west, he had an eager idea.
