“Do you never eat pizza?”
“I tend to stick to healthier foods. But Greta still manages to keep it interesting for me.” Yes, I bet she would. I’ve missed her. “But every so often, I get a cravingfor extra cheese. It has to be the right kind of pizza, though. That’s the tricky part.”
“What’s the right kind of pizza?”
“Thin crust, but thick enough to have a little bit of bite to it. Puffy at the top, with those little heat blisters.” He points at a handful around the edge of our pizza. “This looks like a good one.”
“I’ve never had any complaints.” I take a slice and dab away some of the grease before taking a bite. Lucian, meanwhile, peels away a slice, folds it in half, and shoves almost half of it in his mouth all at once.
His eyes close. “Oh, my god. Bliss.” So kinky sex isn’t the only thing that makes him do that. Here I was, wondering what made him tick. It was pizza all along.
“Sometimes it’s good to let yourself go a little, huh?”
“No kidding. Fuck. I have half a mind to buy this place so I can have them deliver to me every day.” I bet he could do that, too. Though I keep that thought to myself.
This is too weird. Watching him act like a normal person, asking if there are any movies I’d like to see. He finds a random superhero movie, and I agree since it’s not like I’ll be paying much attention, anyway. We could watch the Weather Channel for all I care.
How am I supposed to pay attention to anything besides him sitting on the other side of the sofa? All I can do is wonder why he’s here and what he wants. Is he going to want to make a thing out of this? I don’t know how I feel about that. Sure, it’s good to have him with me, but that doesn’t mean this will be our new arrangement. His weekly pizza fix or something.
He glances my way after a few minutes. “Why don’t you come over here?”
See, I knew it. There had to be something else. “I don’t want to. I’m still not over what happened, and I told you that night that I don’t want you to touch me again.”
His eyes narrow for a second. “I only want to hold you. Nothing sexual.” When I scowl, he scowls back. “I think we both know I’d have taken you by now if that’s what I came for.”
I hate that he’s right. If he decided he wanted me, he’d get me. Even if I didn’t want him to.
I must be taking too much time making up my mind because his arm darts out and hooks around my waist before I can do anything about it. He doesn’t pull me to him, though, not exactly. I end up lying across his lap, facing the TV. “Did that hurt?” he asks. I choose not to answer.
No, it didn’t hurt. In fact, this isn’t bad at all. Now I know for sure I missed him. His nearness, the way he makes me feel safe—which doesn’t really make sense because he’s made me feel the exact opposite, too. Maybe he learned his lesson.
Either way, when he reaches out to stroke my hair, I don’t flinch away. I’m still not paying attention to the movie, but now it’s because his touch is so soothing. The scent of his cologne is nice, too. Years from now, I’ll smell that cologne somewhere, and I’ll think of him.
Nothing about his touch is demanding. It’s gentle, light, and the steady rhythm lulls me into deep relaxation. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well—no big surprise.
Nope. My eyes open wide. I’m not going to leave myself vulnerable to him.
But I’m so sleepy.
He wouldn’t hurt me. I can fall asleep, and he won’t hurt me. I have to believe that because my eyelids are suddenly too heavy to lift any longer.
Chapter 22
Lucian
It’s like I’ve been granted a precious gift. Her trust, even if it’s tentative. Even if she’s not sure whether I deserve it. Something deep inside her, some wisdom, tells her what I already know to be true. That I wouldn’t hurt her for anything in the world. That she’s nothing but safe when we’re together.
Now that I know what it’s like to be without her, I won’t be making any more mistakes.
She’s peaceful now, her breathing slow and even. I can’t resist the desire to reach down and stroke her hair—gently, barely making contact for fear of waking her and ruining the moment. I’ve waited a week for this. No, I’ve waited my entire life for this. So I won’t fuck it up now.
Rowan. My precious Rowan. I don’t know how many more nights we’ll have to go through this little dance. Getting her to trust me, easing her into being close to me. Earning her one inch at a time. I’ll do whatever it takes.
It might be because I’m watching her, or it might be because I’m exhausted myself. This hasn’t exactly been a restful week. No matter the reason, my head feels heavier with each second until I let it fall back against the sofa cushions.
Which is when I hear the scratching.
I sit up, watchful, listening hard. It isn’t loud enough for Rowan to hear—she’s still asleep—but it’s not mice. That much I know. I can see the door from where we’re sitting, and I know it isn’t my imagination. The knob is moving ever so slightly like someone is trying to pick the lock and jiggling it as they do.
