His soft smile reached his eyes then, and he flicked her chin. “It’s annoying, really. The thing you’ve turned me into.”
“At least you’ve not lost your brooding touch,” she said.
Sam’s fingers tightened in her hair and yanked her head backwards, the minor pain making her laugh catch, her smile widen. “There’s my demon,” she hissed as his eyes darkened to nearly black.
Ana glanced out to the ray of sun across the horizon. The sea basked in its glow, reflection rippling across the surface as thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, back in the direction of the city. She laid her head on his chest, her eyes closing as his arms tightened around her.
“Can we go to your place tonight?” she dared to ask.
Sam stiffened for a breath. She caught it, resisting to look up at him, and instead chose to let it be when he squeezed her side.
“Why do you want to go there?”
“I’d like to know what secrets my mystery man is holding from me.”
She really did. She wanted to know why, when she peered up at him then, that he seemed to be in so much pain. Like the mere mention of him hiding anything from her broke his fucking heart.
The same face he’d made when she’d asked about his past and he’d avoided the questions.
“Soon,” he promised.
So she decided on her next plea.
“Take the morning off tomorrow, then,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”
His jaw tightened as he looked down at her, and just when she thought he would tell her he couldn’t, he said in a choked voice, “Okay.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ANA KEPT WAITING to feel the vacancy at her back that she usually woke up to.
But she never did.
And when grey light made its way through her large windows, Ana shifted so she could see his face, and she nearly wept at the sight.
Sam… so hauntingly beautiful. Asleep, his bangs curled over his eye and the rest mussed from their activities the night before. He stirred slightly, the noise of his quiet moan sounding over the television that they’d left on.
She pushed his hair back, and he took her hand, kissing her palm as his eyes fluttered open.
“How have I been so stupid?” he whispered as their eyes met.
“What do you mean?”
“How could I have gone this long without waking up beside you,” he finished.
Ana tried not to laugh. “Oh, now you’re never staying over again,” she teased, rolling her eyes. “Not with cheesy words like that—Sam!”
He pushed up to his elbow and hovered over her, his fingers digging into her sides, grabbing her and making her laugh uncontrollably. And when he finally held her still, she pressed her hands to his cheeks, and for a moment, Ana swore she could have stayed right there all day and not cared for food or water or any other nourishment except the look in his eyes, the feeling of his touch.
“What do you want to do today?” she asked.
He pushed a curl back behind her ear. “I want to show you my art studio,” he said.
“I’d love that.”
The ride to midtown was quiet. There were few people on the streets, which Sam found a little odd but didn’t think much of it. He couldn’t. Not as Ana’s cheek rested on his back and her arms tightened around his waist. Not as he counted her breaths and became mesmerized by the mere feeling of her chest rising and falling against him.
His studio was dark and a little unorganized, he realized, when he flipped on the lights. He’d left some things uncovered when he’d last been there. He paused at the door and watched Ana walk around the room. His insides squirmed, as if he were fully exposing himself with those art pieces, including some parts of his soul that he’d buried deep.
