“Get it together, Alex,” the man whispered, wiping his hands on his buttocks. “It’s Wren. YouknowWren.”
Silas drifted to him, stopping when he was an inch inside him. Tuning in, he absorbed his excitement and his fear, all colored by his confusion.
“She said she loved you,” he spoke again, still too low for anyone but Silas to hear. “She wanted you to choose her, and you can. Youwantto. You can make all her dreams come true.”
Silas looked at the dancer, whose eyes were still on the doctor, and pursed his lips. Who was this man, and what had he been to the dancer? And how could he use it to his advantage to drive a wedge between Dr. Trafford and the distracting woman?
He wasn’t a man who involved himself in human affairs—it was strongly discouraged this side of the veil—but desperate times, etcetera. “Do you love her?” he asked him, pitching his voice at a frequency that made it more likely for the human to hear. “Do you want her?”
“Yes, I want her. But I don’t know how she’ll react to seeing me here.”
It was time to push a little more. “Once the dancer loves, she stays loyal.” Silas wasn’t sure if that was true, but in the scheme of things, what was one little falsehood?
The man nodded, overexcited. “Wren said she loved me. She won’t have changed her mind.”
“But that man… He’s dangerous. If you don’t go to her now, you might lose her…” Silas said, mentally asking Dr. Trafford to understand that he was doing this for his own good.
For the good of the people who needed and depended on his training and skills.
“We have a long friendship and dance in common,” the man said, hauling in a deep breath and puffing out his chest. “I can do this, and I will!”
Silas, a little bored and exhausted from trying to make himself heard, decided a little force might be required. So he placed his ghostly hand between the man’s shoulder blades and gave him an almighty shove, and he stumbled into the tent.
* * *
Around eleven, the tent started emptying, and Hayes excused himself to take Hadley home. Seeing that Poppy was almost asleep—a combination of too much ice cream and too much alcohol—Hayes scooped her up as well.
And just like that, he and Wren were left at the empty table.
Dane rubbed his hand over his face, unable to stop thinking about how close he’d come to kissing her earlier, that he’d almost,almosthad his lips on hers again. The memory of her soft expression, the heat in her eyes, made his pulse spike—and her make-him-crazy scent had him pushing his fingers into the skin on her inner thigh. He wanted her—needed her. The thought both thrilled and terrified him.
But it wouldn’t, couldn’t last. As she’d said, they only had the summer, a few weeks together. Thinking about it made his stomach twist with want and restraint in equal measure. He could easily imagine touching her, holding her, kissing her, stripping her—then he’d have to leave her. How hard would that be? Desire, he reminded himself, didn’t last forever.
He lifted his hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear, to rub his thumb over her cheekbone, and hesitated, not knowing if he could stop there. He hadn’t moved his other hand all night, not an inch, and the questions kept smacking him. Was this right? Was it worth it? Was she ready for him? Them? Even if it was only for a couple of months? However much he wanted her, she was an adult, fully capable of making this decision. But, somehow, and for some reason, he knew he had to let her make the first move, knew she needed to drive this forward. She needed to choose him, even if it was only for a night.
If he tried really hard, he could, maybe, convince himself that it was enough, right now, to know he had her attention. He could feel it in the heat of her glances, her small hitches of breath when he touched her, the way she looked at his mouth. He was in her mind, and that was enough for now.
Ithadto be enough.
Needing a little distance, he got up, told Wren he’d be back, and walked up to the near-empty bar. He ordered two beers and two whiskey shots, paid, and walked back to Wren, who was listening to the vampire band’s now soulful, slower tunes.
Instead of sitting opposite her, he resumed his place next to her on the bench seat. Wren placed her elbow on the table and half turned to look at him, her expression bemused. “The tables are empty, and we don’t have to squish together,” she told him.
He shrugged and grinned. “I’m sure as hell not going to deny myself the opportunity to hold your hand under the table, to place my hand on your thigh, to get drunk on your scent, which I freaking adore… Can you remember the brand of your bodywash?”
She blinked, trying to make sense of his words. “Sorry?”
Remembering how he’d stood in Walmart, opening, sniffing, and closing bottles of bodywash, made him feel like the biggest dork in history. He certainly couldn’t explain his current obsession to Wren. He rubbed his thumb over her knee. “Is it okay for me to carry on doing this?”
Her eyebrows rose, and heat suffused her cheeks. Then she nodded, looking adorably confused. This woman made him want to kiss her senseless and protect her endlessly. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known.
Knowing that interested eyes couldn’t clock his movements, he kept his hand on her thigh, loving her warm skin and the toned muscles beneath his palm and fingers. He pushed his fingers a little way under the hem of her shorts and watched her eyes widen.
“And is this okay?” he asked.
She nodded, her throat bobbing. She licked her lips, her eyes darted to his mouth, and she groaned. An image of her, naked in his bed, making that sound, flashed behind his eyes.
“I’m holding on by a thread here, Wren, don’t tempt me by making sexy sounds.”
