Idoknow better. And I also know what my mama always said about men like him. The old ones who have been here longer than I care to think. Wildbloods.
Old wives’ tales… got that straight from the source. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling there’s something different about Kael. More than longevity or good genes can explain away.
I feel him before I see him, startling from my thoughts and looking up.
He leans against the door jamb, arms crossed, eyes roving over me in a way I’ve never seen before. Like he’s appreciating me.
More mixed signals. One moment hot, the next cold as a frozen fish. I can’t take this. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he should go.
My mouth works.
Before I can speak, he drawls low and smooth, “Dinner’s ready, primrose.”
We eat in silence, though I long to speak. But with him, there are no right words. Just me being vulnerable and him shutting doors.
Finally, he grumbles, “Not to your liking?”
“Amazing, actually,” I say, grabbing another square of cornbread and slathering it with fresh-churned butter and strawberry jam. “But you said it yourself. Don’t want to get used to it.”
He clutches his shoulder again, thumb rubbing back and forth. “Slept more than a week with the herd. No signs of anything unusual. Untoward.” His eyes cast to the side. “Getting restless. Figure you should start looking for another?—”
I cut him off with a nod. Shame floods me. I’ve practically thrown myself at this man and objectified him to boot.And he knows it.
My mouth goes dry, and I can’t meet his gaze anymore. “How soon?”
“Day or two. Better that way.”
I nod.
After dinner, we clean the kitchen in silence, standing next to each other at the sink and washing dishes.
“I should get a dishwasher. Come into the twentieth century at a bare minimum. But maybe I like some things old-fashioned,” I say, trying to make conversation because the silence is deafening.
Our shoulders are so close I can feel him again. Radiating. Throbbing.
He grinds his teeth, face hardening.
I try to ignore him, drying the next plate he hands me. Our fingers brush, and I pull back too quickly. “That… burns.”
The words make no sense. But there’s no other way to describe it.
His forehead knits, and he lets out a low sigh. “It all burns.”
I look up, only realizing after the fact that he’s turned toward me now. Though he towers above me, he’s hunched forward, his turquoise eyes luminous. They drop to my mouth, and warmth crawls over my face.
“You feel it, too?” I ask on an exhale.
“Every moment around you.”
I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. My gaze goes to his too-kissable lips. His hand comes up, rough palm hovering so close to my face that I don’t have to imagine his touch.
“You shouldn’t let me,” he rasps, nostrils flaring.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s wrong.”
My forehead creases, but I don’t move, don’t speak, locked in something I can’t let go.
