Why do I drift close after she’s asleep? Not to touch, just to bask in her warmth.
The answer comes before I can push the thought away.
It’s because of all those things. I like how she has her own thoughts, so different from mine. I like how she doesn’t fall over when I walk into the room. How she never simpers. I like how she makes me work for her attention. She refuses to hand over a single inch of herself unless I earn it.
When I do get a crumb?
It’s fucking intoxicating.
I should’ve learned better by now that seeking approval is a losing game. My father made damn sure I understood that. Most of the time, I don’t care what people think. They can love me, hate me, push me away, pull me closer. I barelyeven notice it, which probably makes me a self-centered asshole, but honestly? I’ve been too busy surviving. Too busy taking care of myself to give a damn.
Except for today when I looked up in the middle of that fight, blood in my mouth, and saw her.Laurel, with her hand clutching her chest, eyes wide, and lips parted like she was worried.
Aboutme.
Suddenly I wanted,needed, to know everything. What was she thinking? What did she feel? About the fight. About The Order. About me. I wanted to climb inside that genius, chaotic brain of hers and take up residence. Make a home there. Which is unhinged. Creepy. Dangerous…but hell, I’ve done worse things for less.
“You’re saying you didn’t see the fight?” I ask, like I’m not fishing.
She flips a page. “Which one? You beat people up for fun, remember?”
Okay. Rude.
I get up and limp dramatically to the sitting area, waiting for her to look up and make a fuss over me.
She doesn’t. Instead, she mutters, “You should ice your face before you swell up like a rotten tomato.”
“Aha!” I exclaim and point at her, while I take a seat in a chair close to the bed. I know she’s right. My face feels like it went through a blender. I can barely see out of one eye, that’s how swollen shut it is. “You were watching.”
Shit-eating grin: deployed.
Laurel sighs and rolls her eyes.
Still smiling, I let out a groan that I’m hoping sounds at least a little bit sensual as I bend over to untie my shoes. I glance up to catch her cheeks pinking, and,fuck, I love that color on her. That delicate blush that makes me want to lean closer and see how far it trails, down her neck, across her collarbone, over the swell of her breast…
“I was in the library,” she says primly as she lifts her chin and peers over at me. “The windows face the lawn. It’s not like I had a choice.”
“Hmm. If you say so.” I stretch my legs and rest them on the edge of the bed. As if it’s an accident, I let one of my feet brush her calf.
She pulls away fast, but not before I feel that quick, involuntary hitch of breath.
Interesting.
I decide to push my luck a little farther. To pushher.
“You gonna kiss my bruises better, little mouse?”
She slams the book shut and glares at me. “You’re disgusting.”
“Disgustingly amazing,” I counter, stretching back in the chair and lacing my fingers behind my head like I’ve got all the time in the world. Like I own this room. Which, let’s be honest, I kind of do.
“Were you worried about me?” I ask, cocking my head just enough to make it teasing. I keep my tone light, but inside I tense. “Looked like you were about to claw through that window when Sampson had me down.”
“I was hoping he’d finish the job,” she says, but her eyes flick to me and her voice is breathier than before. The grip on her book tightens.
“Ouch.” I press a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”
“You look fine to me,” she mutters.
