“No! Nope.No.” I shake my head with every word. He listens, stopping and slowly letting the fabric fall back into place.
Because who knows what hell would be unleashed if he removed that hoodie. What would be underneath? A t-shirt to reveal the bulge of his arms? Or something that would tease his toned stomach? Or maybe something tighter? Something that enhanced every line of muscle like a second layer of tantalising skin…
I take three steps back, close my eyes, fumbling to find the stool behind me as I sit.
“I can get one for you if…” I shake my head and his words slowly trail off.
He doesn’t understand.
I don’t wantahoodie, I don’t want onelikeit. I wantthatone.
The onehe’swearing.
Covered in his scent, steeped in his power, wrapped in that impossibly cool darkness I always crave.
I hear another stool scraping then feel the edges of his darkness reach out, barely tracing mine in a brief acknowledgement—a soft greeting. Immediately, the coolnesshe always brings engulfs me, settling over my skin like a weighted blanket made of shadow.
And I suddenly feel so... tired.
“You need to eat, Jasmine,” Kane says so softly.
That’s his word for today—soft.
I never thought I’d use it to describe him. But today, that’s what he is. That’s what he feels like.
Soft and cool and dark and just so… soothing.
“I’m not hungry,” I murmur, the words a mumble.
I still haven’t opened my eyes, I can’t. My head feels so heavy that I lean my cheek against my palm, prop my elbow onto the table.
I sigh. “I’m just tired.”
His darkness delicately brushes my arm, a gentle action that causes my eyelids to slowly flutter open.
Kane’s expression is so… solemn.
His gaze searches my skin, flitting between my eyes, my lips—probably noting the lack of colour, how desaturated I’ve become.
“Tell me what I can do to make you eat,” he says, those soft eyes searching mine, and it’s such a quiet, sincere plea that my stomach twists with something akin to guilt. “Please.”
Then I remember yesterday, everything he shared with me about his past, how he suffered, and here I am, refusing to eat some soup.
“Will you eat with me?” My question clearly catches Kane off-guard because he becomes a statue. His grey-speckled eyes narrowing as they search mine.
Then he nods.
We stay in the comfortable silence as he takes the thermos. I watch as he opens it, pours the thick liquid into the plastic cup, but when I think he’s about to take a sip, he slides it over to me.I raise a brow but he doesn’t back down, only nudges the cup closer with his knuckles.
I sigh, all the while trying to ignore the twists and tucks my stomach creates from the wonderful scent of that soup. Rich and creamy and…
I reach out, take it, lift, feel the heat on my lips, my tongue, and the first swallow is…heavenly.
“More.” At his sudden command, both our eyes widen—equally stunned.
His, from realising he’s justordered me when he knows he’s in no position whatsoever to do so, and mine… from my reaction to it.
Kane drops his gaze, staring at the table as he mutters a low and regretful, “Sorry.”
