I descend from the arm of the settee and tuck the blankets tighter around him. My gaze settles on the steady rise and fall of his chest, and an idea comes to mind. Dropping my towel to the floor, I close my eyes and turn my attention inward, focusing on the second side of me. The small, soft creature. The hunter. The part of me that loves frolicking through rain even more than my seelie self does. I connect with that version of me and feel a hum of magic radiate up and down my limbs, infusing my blood and bones. A shudder racks my body from my head and down my spine. Once it reaches my toes, I land on four soft paws.
From the ground, I stare up at the settee. Monty looks larger now that I’m in my pine marten form, yet it’s a view I easily recall. In a single leap, I hop onto his chest and settle my small body at its center, letting my warmth radiate through the blanket to infuse him.
I did this once before, during The Heartbeats Tour. After a late night out, he returned to the place we were staying at, seeming a little worse for wear. Now I wonder if he’d joined an amateur boxing match in the city we were visiting. He settled into a chair, complaining that he was cold, and I offered to curl up on his chest until he was warm. That resulted in both of us falling asleep. When I awoke the next morning, I was mortified, bemoaning my humiliation over havingsleptwith him. I’m embarrassed to recall how naive I was then, and the situation was only made worse when Monty teased me.
…I have a type. Four legs and furry isn’t it.
I still don’t know why it hurt me so much when he said that. Why would I expect a human to see an animal fae as anything else? Of course it meant nothing to him that a fae creature slept on his chest. It truly wasn’t a big deal.
Yet it still hurt that he felt that way.
I study his face from where I lie, and I remind myself that he could hurt me all over again. He could say something cruel or cutting. He could push my friendship away like he did before. My yearning to understand more about him, to learn the hidden sides of him I’m only just starting to suspect are there, could lead to pain.
The kind of pain that made me drunk and reckless once before, so desperate for a lasting connection after Monty rejected me that I got myself handfasted to someone I had no intention of marrying.
My friendship with Monty could lead me back down that sharp and agonizing path. It might be better to keep my distance—to tuck tail and run from him—as soon as our bargain is fulfilled. Run. Hide. Isn’t that what I do when I’m afraid?
As I close my eyes and lower my head, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat, I remember that Monty is the one who ranwithme today.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MONTY
Iwake to complete warmth. It radiates all around me, a soothing heat that nearly lulls me back to the depths of slumber until my mind sharpens just enough to tell me none of this is familiar. Not the firm cushion against my back or beneath my side. Not the scent of the blanket covering me. Not the feel of the arms wrapped around my torso. Not the soft body flush against mine. Not the feel of the silk beneath my palms.
I open my eyes and find a dark apartment, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the windows, but it isn’t the dingy single-room unit I downsized to two years ago. No, this is Daphne’s apartment, as evidenced by the ceiling of twining branches, extending from the tree trunk at the center of the parlor. I’m lying on my side on her settee, covered in a blanket. My clothes are strung on a line over the parlor stove.
Which means I’m fucking naked.
And the woman in my arms…
I look down, but she’s hidden beneath the blanket, nestled against my chest. My awareness sharpens to every part of me she touches. The feel of her breath against my skin. Her arm slung over my waist. One of her legs tangled with mine. Then my focus shifts to my own body. The arm that dangles off the settee, her head propped upon my bicep. My heart that pounds against her cheek. My hand splayed over…something.
I move my fingers slightly, feeling only flimsy silk. The curvature beneath it doesn’t make it hard to guess I’m palming Daphne’s ass. A rather ample, perfect ass, I must say.
—If I were an asshole. I would only say thatifI were a complete and utter asshole, which I’m determined not to be with her.
She makes a soft sound in her sleep, then wriggles against me, drawing new awareness to the pair of breasts pressed to my torso. Damn it all, the way my cock stiffens—or stiffensmorebecause apparently I’m already hard—does nothing to support myI’m not an assholebit. My pulse races, my blood rushing through my ears. I lift my hand from Daphne’s ass and tug the blanket down, finally revealing the sleeping face of my friend. The sight of her parted lips and the squish of her cheek against my chest does something painful to my heart, but I don’t let myself linger on it. Not when I haven’t a fucking clue what’s going on or how we got like this.
I shift to the side and extricate my arm from under her head. Her eyes flutter open as I pull myself up partway. Our legs are still tangled, as is the blanket we’re covered in. The latter slips down her body as she arches in a tired stretch, revealing that lacy bralette I was introduced to last weekend. I avert my gaze as she props herself up on her forearms.
She makes another sleepy moan that turns into a yawn. “You’re awake.”
“Daph…” I swallow the strain in my throat. “What did we do?”
“What did we…” Her echoed words are languid and end in another yawn. Then she looks down at herself with a surprised smile. “Oh, right. I must have shifted in my sleep.”
“Shifted.”
“I laid on your chest in my unseelie form. You were shivering so I thought it might help you warm up.”
Her explanation conjures memories. Running in the rain. Her smile. Her laughter.
Me feeling unwell on our ride home.
Daphne forcing me to come inside.
Us undressing.
