Page 22

“Y’know,” he murmurs after a long beat, voice low and rough against the shell of my ear, “I usually like to get to know a woman before I watch her come. Ask her a few polite questions at least. Favorite color, maybe. How she takes her coffee. ”

I laugh, startled and breathless at this lightness I would never have expected from broody, sexy Jaxon. “Yeah? Well, for the record, humping pillows in strangers’ houses isn’t exactly my usual foreplay, either.”

He chuckles, soft and genuine, the sound vibrating against my back. “Okay. We’re already halfway in, so let’s do this like civilized adults.”

“Speed-post-fuck-dating?” I quip.

“Exactly.” His hand flexes lightly against my stomach. “Favorite color?”

“Deep green.”

“Solid choice.” His voice softens. “Coffee?”

“Black. Like my soul.”

He huffs a laugh. “Figures. I’m a two sugars, splash of cream kind of guy.”

“Extra sweet. Are you sure?” I grin into the dark. “Favorite dessert?”

“Banana split,” he says.

“How retro. I’m a chocolate fudge cake kinda girl.”

“Of course you are.”

“Dog or cat?”

“Dog. Obviously.” I feel him tilt his head toward where Beau is likely passed out downstairs. “You?”

“Dog.” I sigh, eyelids drooping, the coma of sleep creeping closer. “You?”

“Still dog.”

We lapse into a companionable silence, the weight of his arm a steady comfort. The ridiculousness of the conversation does exactly what I need, easing the sharp edges of what happened and soothing some of the pain left from Levi’s withdrawal.

Jaxon Delaney keeps everyone at a distance, but he’s here, his chest against my back, his arm heavy over my waist like a barrier between us and the world.

I don’t know what to make of it. Before my brain catches up with my mouth, I ask.

“What are you looking for in a wife? ”

His lips brush my shoulder. “Why? You auditioning?”

I snort, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “For the article.”

“Expert at pillow humping,” he says. “Fuck that was hot.”

“I’m serious.”

He exhales, and I feel the tension roll through him, subtle but unmistakable.

His hand smooths once over my stomach, then stills.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, voice softer now.

“Someone who doesn’t expect me to be good at this.

At life. At feelings. Someone who doesn’t need me to have it all figured out.

Who doesn’t need words when there are actions. Someone who stays anyway.”

The honesty in that sentence punches the air out of me. It’s so raw and so un-Jaxon-like that I hold completely still. I cover his hand with mine and thread my fingers through his. “I’m not writing that,” I whisper. “That part stays between us.”

His lips graze my bare shoulder again, slower this time. “You’re good at reading people.”

I smile faintly into the dark. “I’m terrible at it. But I’m trying.”

Silence that’s not awkward, but heavy, spreads between us.

He kisses the bumps of my spine, tender and unhurried. “Why are you sad, Grace?”

His voice barely stirs the air, but his question lands right in the hollow of me I’ve spent most of my life barricading.

Sad? I haven’t displayed any overt signs of sadness since I arrived at Cooper Hill, and yet, he’s sensed something in me anyway. I stare at the ceiling, my throat thick, the words jamming up like they’ve never known how to come out clean.

It would be easier to dodge. I could laugh it off or pretend there’s nothing wrong.

I could ask him something else to turn the attention away from myself.

But after what we’ve shared tonight, it doesn’t feel right to retreat.

It feels cowardly to hide when he’s offering me this kind of safety and honesty.

But truthfully, I’ve never been asked this before. Not raw and direct like this. I’ve spent so long pretending the sadness didn’t exist.

“My dad left when I was nine,” I whisper, tasting the shape of the memory like something with sharp edges that hurts to spit out. “New wife, new kids, new life. He didn’t look back.”

His fingers flex against my stomach, the slow drag of his thumb over my skin making me feel more seen than any spotlight ever has.

“My mom…” I pause, trying to steady the waver in my voice.

“She did her best, but she filled the house with foster kids. I think she was trying to fix something in herself by helping everyone else. But it was like… every time I turned around, there was another story louder than mine. Another name that needed more. And I got really good at… disappearing.”

I force a brittle laugh that feels too thin to hold me up.

“I told myself I was strong for not needing anything. For not asking. But turns out, not asking doesn’t mean you don’t need.”

A quiet hum rumbles in his chest behind me.

He doesn’t rush to answer. He doesn’t throw out a quick fix.

Instead, he presses his lips to my spine again, slowly and deliberately.

His silence isn’t cold or distant. It’s full of everything he can’t put into words yet.

And maybe that’s what I need more than anything.

I swallow hard. “Seeing all of you sticking together like you do… it hit something I didn’t know was still raw. Made me wonder if I’m built for that kind of love. If I’ll ever fit.”

His arm tightens around me, steady, and certain.

“You already do.”

And somehow, it’s exactly the answer I didn’t know I was desperate for.

A pause. A breath.

“Before my parents died, I was a little shit. Always yelling back. Never wanting to do what they said. Then…” He swallows audibly in the dark and pulls me closer so our skin touches head to toe. Enough that I know he means every word .

“I don’t trust myself not to say things that hurt,” he murmurs. “I get prickly, say the wrong thing, push people away before they can do it first.”

“I keep proving I’m not enough,” I whisper. “Choosing men who don’t see me. Or see too much and leave anyway. I don’t even know what I’d do if someone stayed.”

I thread my fingers through his, where they rest on my stomach.

“At least you try,” he says quietly.

“Try and fail.”

“Not tonight,” he whispers. He breathes out, shaky and slow, like the weight of that sentence breaks something open inside him. Then he kisses my shoulder again, without heat this time, just thanks.

His breathing evens out before mine does.

The soft pull and release of air against my spine is melodic, and even in sleep, his hold on me remains firm.

Jaxon Delaney, untouchable, closed off, the one who doesn’t seem to want to let anyone in, has fallen asleep curled around me like he needs the comfort as much as I do.

The knot inside me tightens again, with deeper and scarier emotions.

I stare into the dark, eyes wide, biting my bottom lip hard as I listen to the soft sound of his breathing and feel the weight of his body, solid, real, and warm, curled protectively around me. Between my legs, his release spills, warm and sticky, arousing me all over again.

I lie awake long after he does, staring at the ceiling, feeling the unfamiliar ache of wanting something I know I can’t have. Something that’s never been for me.