“I can decide that for myself.”
A rush that was definitely chemical delayed my reply. I leaned into it, light dancing through my chest, wrapping around my limbs and nerves, coalescing to a surge where Ranger’s body touched mine.
I took a breath, a soft inhale that drew his attention from my abdomen.
“You feeling it, Vik?”
“Defineit.”
Ranger chuckled, relaxing into the rug again, taking me with him. “I don’t need to. Tell me about the bird.”
He had pulled me over him, swathes of our skin now touching, my weight bearing down on him, and it bemused me that he did not seem to notice. I had not been this close to a man who wasn’t Jake in many years. At least not one I wasn’t trying to kill.
This isn’t like being with Jake.
No. It really was not, but my brain was fast losing the ability to figure out why. Or maybe I did not care, andthatwas the meaning of this. To forget. To disregard. For a few hours to be nothing but the moment.
Tell him about the bird.
My hand was pressed to his sternum. I slid it higher, over the dark hair on his chest and to his throat. To a place on his neck, his pulse point, where I wanted to press my lips.
I settled for ghosting my fingers over it. “To me, it means good hunting... in a roundabout way.”
Ranger wet his lips.
Give him more. “The bird is a cuckoo. It is said that the first to hear one in the trees and then find the twig on which it sits...if retrieved, that twig is magical. An amulet for good luck if you carry it in your pocket.”
“Folklore.” Ranger nodded, understanding. “Jean would love that.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Yeah. Do that shit to my neck again.”
I was powerless to oblige, and I discovered that this hard-edged man liked to touch and be touched. At least when he was intoxicated by vodka and the contents of the molly bag that we slowly emptied as the hours passed.
Outside, it grew dark again. My heart beat out of my chest. In a good way. The best. Looming over me, Ranger brushed his lips along my collarbone and nuzzled my shoulder. “You still smell like that orange you ate.”
“Is better than blood, no?”
“Depends whose blood. I want to smell yours.”
He did not mean literally. Ranger was not a sadist. He was tough and strong, but this version of him was sweet. I coaxed him higher. His neck wasright there, but for the hundredth time, I was derailed by his dark stare.
Caught.
Snared.
Enraptured.
His hair had come loose from the band tying it back. I tugged it free and the onyx locks fell into my face.
Ranger laughed, giddy and distant, lost to the high he was riding. “You’re more fun than you look.”
“I do not look fun?”
He flexed his arms, shifting his weight to see me better. Shaking his head to free me from the curtain of his silky hair. “I’ve never thought about how you look. When you’re on my mind, it’s your fucking eyes, and the way you ask me the same questions over and over again.”
“I don’t do that. It isyouthat walks away from conversations that are not finished.”
