I felt him smile. Craving the warmth, I tipped my head back to see it, that subtle curve of his lips, the light in his forest-green eyes. Cam took my breath away every time I looked at him, but there was a lawless beauty in Saint that couldn’t be quantified. A natural magic that I did not deserve. “What are you doing here, wingman?”
He shrugged.
“That is not an answer.”
Pause. Saint held my gaze as he reached into his pocket. He typed a message into his phone and held it up.
Saint:I followed you
“I can see that. Why?”
Saint:didn’t want you to be alone.He tapped my temple. “With this.”
“How did you know?”
Another shrug. A forced breath. “I didn’t want him to ride either.”
“You did not think to stop him?”
“I thought about it a lot, but he’d have done it anyway.”
That, I could believe.
Saint went back to typing on his phone. It took longer than a five-word message should have, so I busied myself tidying his wild hair, not because it looked bad, but because I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel the silky locks against my skin and scratch my blunt nails over his scalp, absorbing his answering shudder like the midday sun on sandstone.
It was easy to lose myself to him. I did not know how Cam had resisted him all these years. The man was a beautiful fool.
Saint held his phone up.
I frowned at the screen. He’d written more words than I’d ever heard him speak at once.
Saint:eric got under your skin. what he said to you... u’ve been stuck in your head since. and u’re scared of losing Cam. it’s eating you up inside and you don’t know how to stop it because you’ve never felt like this before. also, you don’t have murder therapy as a crutch anymore so you don’t have an outlet.
Well. I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but seeing my brain dissected on a phone screen was disturbing enough that I smacked it out of his hand.
The phone clattered to the ground.
Saint paid it no heed, his powerful, probing stare locked on me.
I squirmed in his arms, but my struggle was fleeting. I did not want to escape him and his accurate assessment. It was only words. Did it matter that they were true?
No.Hemattered. And in a moment where I should’ve been alone, he was making me feel like maybe I mattered too.
I gripped his chin, fingers sliding along his jaw. “Murder therapy? Should I murder you too, if you are so concerned with how I feel?”
He shrugged as if he did not care either way.
I cared. Hurting Saint was an ocean I could not cross.
So I kissed him instead, remembering how Cam kissed him and how Saint had kissed me that first night, and after, when we’d dodged the end of the world and taken Cam home.
That kiss on the doorstep of Angel Cottage had been a goodbye, but this was different. This was quicksand I wanted to suck me under, and a low moan breached me as Saint made my mouth his own.
His lips were gentle, but his tongue was a devil. It danced with mine, a hypnotic tangle that did not seek to dominate.
It made my legs weak.
Hemade me weak, but in the sweetest way.