His frown deepened. “Not always.”
His question didn’t come from a place of insecurity. It came from a place of protectiveness. “Yes, Jack. I liked it very much.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he seemed to deny himself the slightest show of genuine satisfaction. The fire crackled and another bell tolled somewhere far above. Gradually, incrementally, her heartbeat slowed toward something approaching normal.
He still lay on her neck, eyes closed but awake.
Her hand drifted without conscious thought, slipping from his hair to his neck, tracing the tendons beneath his skin. Her fingers teased the collar of his shirt, finding warmth underneath and the raised flesh of a scar.
She grazed its edge with featherlight pressure, guessing the injury had been inflicted quickly, but it had healed slowly. It could have been work-related, but she knew better. He had too many. Some, like the brand of his ring, too intentional. His scars were the result of violence.
When? How long ago? The tissue had knit together thick and ropey, a permanent testament to suffering endured alone.
His hand closed around her wrist in silent warning. Not roughly. Not painfully. Just an immovable grip that stopped her exploration before it could fully begin.
“Don’t.” The word came out strangled.
The raw vulnerability in his eyes was enough to make her comply. But withdrawing her touch wasn’t enough for him.
He released her wrist and pulled away, putting distance between them as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
The silence stretched until her need to understand him became too much to bear. “Do you ever let other people touch you, Jack?”
His shoulders went rigid.
For a long moment, he sat there, body tense, hands noticeably fisting at his sides. Then he moved off the bed.
She regretted her words, but couldn’t help her curiosity. “I’m just trying to understand you.”
“Don’t,” he said, pacing the littered carpet. “You’ll only find ugliness inside.”
Shadows moved in the darkness as a ghost from his past seemed to slip between them. Flames cast his tormented face in an amber glow as his hands opened and closed at his sides. His breath came fast and shallow.
Daisy stayed silent as she waited, unsure what would happen next. She feared any words would only drive him further away.
He continued to pace, the cavernous room shrinking around him like a wild animal caged. Window. Fire. Window. His footsteps barely audible on the thick carpet. His reflection flickered in the dark glass, but other than that, he wouldn’t look at her.
Suddenly, he ripped open the balcony doors and stepped outside, as if trying to escape the claustrophobic space.
Daisy flinched at the sudden abandonment. Voices and music carried from below, reminding her exactly where they were and shattering the illusion of closeness she’d foolishly woven like some protective shield.
He returned as suddenly as he left, the look in his eye enough to startle her into stillness.
Not desire, though he looked as though he wanted to devour her. Restraint. Anger. Raw desperation.
“Jack?” When she said his name, his eyes closed as if suffering in pain that somehow accompanied the most pleasant ecstasy.
He looked at her then, with renewed determination. “I want more of you.”
Daisy swallowed. Her hand drifted to her own throat, seeking the comfort of her locket that wasn’t there and finding only her rabbit-quick pulse. “How much more?”
“Everything. As much as…” He seemed to struggle with his own greed. “All of you.” He paused, then asked, “Scared?”
The weight of his question after such a confession made her response both terrifying and exhilarating. She let the truth settle between them, considering everything he could possibly be asking.
“Daisy,” he asked again, softer this time. “Are you scared?”
“Curious,” she finally said.
