“Xander, I already trust you. I know that you’d never intentionally hurt me. I know who you are. I know because I’ve spent time with you. I have history with you from my dreams.”
His heart went all warm and fuzzy, but his mind doubted and questioned. “Trust doesn’t just poof magically appear.”
She reached for his hand and placed it over her heart. Under his palm, the swell of her breast had his dick doing some swelling of its own. She settled her other palm against his scarred cheek. Energy surged through him.
Her gaze locked with his—locked so hard the entire world vanished and all that existed were her and him and his hand feeling the steady beat of her heart. Whatever the fuck she was about to say, he was gonna believe her. She could tell him he was a two-headed, purple squirrel, and he’d go out, find a nut, and climb a tree.
“Xander. I vow to protect you from pain. I vow never to leave you unless you want me to leave. I vow never to hurt you the way Gran hurt your father. Because hurting you would be hurting myself. Your pain is my pain. And my pain is yours. But together we are strong and invincible. Don’t you feel it when we touch? It’s all I can feel. All I want to feel. You and me. Us. Together.”
Her words did more than enter his ears; they melded into him as bone-deep truth. He’d never do anything to hurt her and—damn—he trusted that she wouldn’t hurt him. As sick as it sounded, maybe his faith in her was born from the suffering she’d endured. She understood pain. Understood the depth and damage pain caused in a way few others ever would. That kind of knowledge made her incapable of wounding anyone else.
“Say something. You’re looking at me funny.” Her voice trembled just a bit. He could practically hear her doubting whether she should’ve spoken the words of her heart.
“What you said… Those words…” Christ. He didn’t have experience talking about his feelings. “Everything.”
She cocked her head to the side, questions wrinkling her forehead.
He was screwing this up. “Your words mean everything to me.” He could show her easier than he could tell her. He slid his hands up her neck, framing her face, staring at her, absorbing every detail. “You’re my…” Fearless. He caught himself before he said the word. To base how he felt on a story wasn’t real. She was real. And the emotions warming him were real. “Everything.”
He lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted sweet, of cinnamon and sugar, and for some reason, his heart ached with a fullness of feeling it had never experienced before.
He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her to his chest, his mind flashing back to the day he found her—and to holding her this same way. God, she had weighed so little, had seemed so fragile, but she was strong. Stronger than he’d ever be. Knowing what she’d gone through, what she’d survived—yeah. Strong was too weak a word to describe her.
He carried her up the stairs to his bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers. With a gentleness born of reverence, he settled her on the bed. He broke the kiss to stare at her once more. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, her lips deliciously puffy and pink from a good kissing. He fucking loved pink.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, finding him. A lazy smile stretched across her mouth, full of sweet, ornery secrets he longed to discover. He was gonna spend the rest of his life learning all those hidden thoughts tumbling around inside her head.
“You keep looking at me funny.” She reached up and settled her palm against his scarred cheek. Something hot and primal zinged through his scars and then settled heavily in his groin. Jesus Christ.
“That’s just my I’m-in-awe-of-you face.”
“In awe of me?”
“Yeah, you.” He nipped the end of her nose, pecked a kiss on her mouth, and then moved lower to her shoulder. Her skin was cool and soft against his lips and tasted of his favorite flavor. Her. “I want you bare,” he whispered against the fabric covering her chest.
She sat up and lifted her arms over her head. He pulled the somber black dress over her head and let it drop on the floor. Later, he’d toss that wad of material in the trash. That was the last time she was ever going to wear the color of mourning. He’d make sure her wardrobe was full of sunshine, sky, and flower colors. Nothing but happy shades for her.
She leaned back against the pillow, her pert breasts snagging all his attention, and he changed his mind. She didn’t need clothes. He preferred her like this. Naked, except for a delicate pair of lace panties. And those would be coming off in about thirty seconds. He shucked his clothes while she watched—her gaze hungry, devouring every inch he revealed. She licked her lips as if he were her favorite meal. She could eat him up whenever she wanted.