Page 58 of Scarred Crown

I lift the neck of Nick’s shirt to cover my mouth and nose, breathing in his familiar scent. My lips are sensitive from his kisses, from the scratch of his beard. My mind wakes up, and I catch myself smelling his shirt. I draw it down, hoping Nick didn’t notice.

What is wrong with me? He’s so casual, wandering around the tent like nothing happened between us, and I’m trying to bathe in his scent.

“Where is my shirt?” I can’t see it anywhere obvious from my position on the bed.

“I tossed it with the rest of your mess.” Nick points to the pile of clothes on the floor.

Clearly, I was the only one so into our make-out session I didn’t realize I lost my shirt or where it went. He actually took the time to aim my top at my pile of dirty laundry, which admittedly, I’ve left there to annoy him more than anything. One of the workers even offered to take my clothes and wash them for me. Stubbornly, I declined.

Clambering off the bed, I switch out my shirt and throw Nick’s back at him. He catches it with a smirk and tugs it over his head just before workers call to us from outside the tent.

Nick unzips the entrance, letting them in to clear our food. We watch them in eerie silence.

Am I supposed to mention the kiss? Such a freaking disaster last time something like this happened between us. Say something? Ignore it?

There’s no point in making our working relationship awkward. We almost died. Our hormones were elevated. The whole thing doesn’t need to go any further. We can stop right there. One of us just has to say something out loud.

When the zipper clicks closed and all the workers are gone, Nick avoids looking at me. Christ. He’s going to make me say something first. Of course he is. The olive branch always has to be me. At least that hasn’t changed.

“So,” I say, drawing out the word. “Are we pretending we didn’t just make out?”

“Is that what you want?” Nick peers at me over his shoulder with a narrowed gaze.

Okay, wow. Just like that he’s flipped the decision back to me. How do I want to play this? Before I say anything, I gather my thoughts. Casual? Playful? Definitely not serious.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “As make-out sessions go, it was decent.” Understatement. To this day, my first kiss with Nick is still the best kiss I’ve ever had. This one, tonight, is definitely rivaling it for the top spot. He got my shirt off, and I didn’t even realize it. I’ve never had clothes leave my body while I was sober and not notice before.

“Decent?” Nick queries, prowling closer to where I’m standing at the edge of the bed.

“Above average?” I try again, a hint of a smile playing at my lips.

“Above average?” He’s in front of me now, and his fingertips graze my cheek. “You might be willing to do it again?” He scans my face.

My breath catches at the naked desire in his hazel depths. Outside the tent, after the lioness disappeared, I’m not sure exactly what emotion was in his gaze, but it wasn’t desire. The last time I saw him look at me like this, I was too drunk and too young to be sure until he was kissing me. With age comes wisdom and experience, and his desire is as bright as a full moon to me now. He wants me, which is sort of amazing.

“Would you rise to my standards if I raised the bar?” My voice is husky.

“I wouldn’t just rise to the bar. I’d clear it and then set a new standard for anyone who dared to come after.”

Our gazes meet, and the question in his is clear: Are we doing this? But I’m afraid to say yes. Once he’s got me into bed, I’m not sure I’ll ever want to crawl out again. Having him set a standard no one else can meet is not quite the brag or tease as he might think. Everything I’ve ever experienced with Nick from friendship to first kisses elevated my expectations for everyone who came after. Sex cannot become a disappointment as well once he’s done with me.

I’m also not sure I trust this guy or any of the other versions of Nick I’ve witnessed on this trip. He’s my Nick in some ways, but he’s also a man I barely know.

My heart can’t take being discarded by any version of him again.

“I think.” I lick my lips, and his pupils flare. “We’ve had a really stressful experience and making big decisions right now is a mistake.”

“Whether or not to sleep with me is a big decision?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Yes,” I whisper. How can I explain without giving myself and my heart away? When he casts me aside, I’ll be heartbroken. If I go down this path, I must be okay with us ending. I’m not there yet.

He searches my face and then he draws me to him to kiss my forehead. “All right, then,” he says. There’s no anger or frustration in his voice, but he does tug me into a hug.

When he kisses my temple before releasing me, his gesture almost undoes my resolve. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I try to explain.

He steps away from me, gathering his things for bedtime. “Truly, Jules. It’s okay. One no doesn’t mean never, the same way one yes doesn’t mean always.”

It’s a statement my Nick would have made had we ever got far enough with each other to have this discussion. His patience with me was often unending.