Wrote three words:
Rest. Please. Trust.
Fatigue filled her sight. She blinked hard, refusing to let it fall. But one escaped anyway, tracking down her cheek.
Reached up without thinking. Caught it with my thumb. Her skin warm and soft under the callused pad.
She froze. Looked at me. Those golden orbs wide.
My hand lingered against her cheek. Rough fighter’s hand cradling her face like she might break.
She leaned into the touch. Just slightly. Just enough.
Heat flooded through me again. Different this time. Not just protectiveness. Want. Need. The desire to pull her closer, to...
I pulled my hand back. Too much. Too fast. She’d said she trusted me. Couldn’t abuse that.
But she was still looking at me. Breathing shallow. Color rising in her cheeks.
The space between us felt charged. Electric.
Clare yawned before smiling. As soon as she turned back to the screen, her head dipped. She caught herself, palms flat on the desk.
Wanted to touch her again. Pull her away from the laptop. Make her rest.
But she had to choose. Had to trust me enough to let go of control.
She opened the laptop again. Started typing. Made three mistakes in the first sentence.
Weapon. Killer. But also: person. She’d said so.
Make sure she survived. Even if it meant protecting her from herself.
Her typing slowed. Stopped.
Her head tilted, like she was listening to something far away.
Then her weight shifted. Settling against my shoulder with the absolute trust of complete exhaustion.
Breathing slowed. Deepened.
I sat completely still, afraid to move. Her weight settled against my shoulder, trust so complete it made my chest ache.
Her head found the curve of my neck like her body knew mine. Fingers still resting near the keyboard.
Closed the laptop with my free hand. Room softened to yellow light from the bare bulb overhead.
Need to move her to bed. Simple. Necessary.
Stood slowly, carefully. Her weight shifted as I moved, slumping forward without my support. I caught her automatically. One hand behind her back. The other sliding under her knees.
My shoulder screamed in protest as I lifted her, but didn’t stop.
Three steps. Just three.
Her head settled against my shoulder.
Floorboards creaked. Her hair brushed my jaw, soft and smelling faintly of shampoo from days ago.
