Then everything inside me twists in on her with hyperawareness.
She pulls back an inch, wiping at her face, and I offer her the one positive thing my dad ever taught me, a good old-fashioned handkerchief.
A garbled laugh has her dabbing at her eyes and nose.
“Oh, give it a real go. Doctor, remember? I’ve seen all of it and worse.”
We both laugh as she clears her nose. I take it from her without flinching and stuff it in my pocket.
Even with her eyes red and puffy from crying, she’s still beautiful. The way she bites her lip has me shifting.
“Wren.” Fuck, I want to kiss her.
When her hands smooth over my chest, I dip closer, fighting with the hard rules. I need to let her initiate it. But god, the tension racks up, dancing along my every nerve ending.
She lifts, nose brushing mine, and I give into my impulses, mouth crashing down on hers. The involuntary moan in her throat drives me harder. And she kisses me back, tugging me closer.
I’m steering her back toward the wall when I pull my mouth from hers. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
But when I see how blown her pupils are, I can’t stop.
We collide again, and I have her back against the wall, pressing into her, kissing her like my life depends on the small whimpers she’s making.
12
WREN
The men have been out on some kind of mission that they won’t tell me about. I’m crawling out of my skin at the change in routine. At having Saint gone, even if I only had him beside me in bed at night.
It’s weird without him. Cold. And it has me off kilter.
Or maybe it was the kiss I shared with Doc that has me even more on edge. Because it was a good kiss. Like the world shook a bit.
But he’s been busy, too.
Pixie slides me a beer, and I make a face at her. I don’t really like the stuff. Alcohol at all. Not after my one and only party I was allowed a little bubbly at. I shake off the memory of wayward hands too firm to be innocent.
“This is normal. And get off your high horse. Have a brew.”
I shake my head. “It’s not anything to do with taste. I just don’t?—”
Those big sister eyes take in my discomfort, and she pulls the bottle back, draining it by half with a couple pulls.
“Listen”—Pixie burps—“it comes in waves. And they’re working double to keep an eye on Knox and your ex.”
That has me sinking into myself. They’re putting in all this time and effort to keep me safe. And I can barely keep the bar clean or the laundry going.
I feel as useless as ever.
“Hey.” She grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “This is what they do. Remember?”
Pixie would know. They saved her.
I’m still wrapping my head around how his group of men break the law to fight against those darkest crimes. And I can imagine one of those men finding me and carrying me out of a deep dark place.
I’d probably have hero worship. I might be experiencing a little of that right now. It would explain how attached I am to the three that hover in my periphery.
It seems like a prime opportunity to learn more about them. Although it’s hard to tell how much Pixie will give me or how much she knows. I bet her info on Saint is slim. I doubt anyone knows a lot about him.
