I’d met a couple of people who had been enthralled in my life, most of them very willing participants, but none of them had been a completely empty slate like Luther had.
“Do...” There was a particularly long pause as Paul stared at me, and I truly didn’t have any idea which direction his question would go. Eventually, he swallowed and managed to get hiswords out, although I could tell his voice was close to cracking when he did. “Do you think there is any chance that it can be undone? That we could get him back?”
Shit.
I had no way of answering that even though I wanted to from the deepest parts of my soul. I couldn’t imagine what Paul was going through. From losing two of his family members, to having attempts on the rest of his family, only to find out that not only was his eldest brother actually alive, but he had been the one to murder their father. And now said brother was a mindless minion for the actual murderers who had managed to keep their identity a mystery.That’s almost an alliteration!
Oh my god, shut up, it is SO not the time!
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, because I had sworn I would always be truthful with Paul even though lies were so easy to whip up. “But if there is, I swear I’ll find it.”
Our eyes locked at that, and his hand finally fell from my face, mine going with it. In the frenzy of getting our plan ready to trap the assassin, that simmering tension
yeah, how did that end up going again?
between us had fallen far to the wayside. But now that we were alone, our faces only an inch apart, I could feel it rushing up in me again. Not just because I wanted to comfort the man, but because I felt closer to him than anyone else. We’d fought together, fumbled together, plotted and planned together. Really, it felt like the only person who knew me better was Hudson, who was happily asleep in her cat tree downstairs, fed and watered.
It’s just the adrenaline,I thought to myself, trying to resist the urge to close the distance between us.Just like after the market, it’s just a response to the hormonal rush of a life-and-death situation.
I actually don’t think that’s true.
Get it together, Cherry, get it together!
Wow, his eyes are beautiful.
He is theclient, and you are theconsultant!
Stop taking advantage of a man in an emotionally vulnerable position and be professional!
He’s in so much pain, I wish I could just?—
My groaning rush of panicked thoughts all disintegrated in a split second, not because I had a sudden herculean surge of conscience, but because it was Paul who wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close so that he could crash his lips to mine.
If I was a particularly moral person, I would have stopped him. Would have told him that we couldn’t do this and that he was making a decision in an emotional state. But I didn’t stop him. No, I fell headlong into the kiss, wrapping my arms around him and clinging with all that I had.
This is the wrong decision. Our hookup was supposed to be a one-time thing...
Oh my god, give it a rest!
I banished those thoughts from my head in a way that only a dopamine rush could, moving my mouth against Paul’s and giving as good as I got. It didn’t make sense how so many troubling things could vanish from a kiss, but that’s exactly what it was like making out with the often-reserved shifter in front of me.
I was fully ready for the fire from our first coupling, for the bite with the pleasure, the dominance play, the push and pull of shifting dynamics between us. But this time, even as his tongue begged entrance into my mouth, I could sense something was different.
His movements were still a bit harried, but less like they were fueled by lust. And when we broke apart, I glanced behind himto see a giant bloom of soft and sweet spectacle. Sunset gold and pink of admiration, the heather-soft kiss of lilac worship. Baby blue affection making an ombre display with the fading cobalt of worry and concern.
It was brilliant, as gorgeous as any landscape committed to art, and he was feeling that way aboutme.
It was impossible to believe, and yet that glorious sky of emotions burst into a shower of resplendent sparks, raining down over our heads and leaving little flutters of its shimmer wherever it landed. It kissed at my eyelids, my cheeks, sliding down my spine in happy little rivulets of relief and comfort.
Never in all my twenty-six years had I ever experienced something like that, and I knew I was about to cross a boundary within myself that I could never uncross.
“Cheribelle,” Paul whispered, breaking our kiss to rest his forehead against mine. And that was all he said. No filthy promises, no growls. Just my name.
So even though I knew it was a bad decision, I let myself fall.
“Paul,” I whispered back, hoping his enhanced senses would pick up on the chemicals flooding through me. Despite how often I used humor and snappy dialogue to mask myself, I wanted Paul toseeme.
Wait, no. Not just see me, but alsoknowthat I wanted him to see me. A small distinction, but it seemed so significant in my head.