Page 99 of Craving Carla

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Carla

Amari holds my hand, not letting go as we return to the cabin. Once inside, he helps me out of my jacket, then follows me up the stairs to our bedroom. I head over to the bed and start unpacking my clothes while he stays quiet. We’re both still processing everything we learned.

I place my clothes in the drawer carefully, one by one, focusing on the task to keep my mind from racing. Amari pulls off his suit jacket and tosses it into the chair beside the bed, then kicks off his shoes.

They land on the floor, the sound quiet but noticeable. He walks over, grabbing my hand, stopping me mid-motion. I look up at him, then drop my gaze, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself be enveloped by his strength, his scent.

“Carla, you didn’t remember any of that? Dying?” he asks, his voice gentle against my hair.

I quickly shake my head, burying my face against him. His heartbeat—his heart that beats for me—steady beneath my cheek.

“No. But it makes sense. I always try to forget when things get too hard for me.” I pull back to look up at him, needing him to understand. “My life has always been hard, Amari. That’s why I fight so hard for Wintermoon. It’s an easier hard here.”

“Oh, Carla.” He cups my face between his hands and presses his forehead against mine. The tenderness of the gesture steals my breath.

“We need to see my cousin, Angie,” I say, thinking it through aloud. “She has access to the Blackwood journals—even the ones from the Witching Glen.”

“Okay, let’s schedule a visit, but I’d also like to make sure the border is secure before we do.” He pulls back, looking toward the window into the forest where our children rest, watching, protecting us from the shadows. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that email from Alexis. She’s up to something, and something tells me that email was a warning that something is already coming. And I’d like to work with Bobby about getting Verde and Petra...” he pauses, looking at me with sympathy, “or at least, what’s left of them.”

My face falls at his words. The thought of my babies being cut apart, studied like specimens—it’s too much. I put a hand over my forehead, shaking my head. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

I pull my shirt over my head, tossing it aside. When I look over at Amari, he’s grinning at me in that insufferable way that somehow still makes my stomach flutter.

“What?” I snap, pulling a nightdress from my bag and slipping it over my shoulders. I unbutton my pants and kick off my shoes, pulling them down and stepping out of them.

“Nothing, it’s just...you’re getting comfortable with me,” he says, his golden eyes following my movements.

I shrug, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “I guess I am. You’ve been around me non-stop since I first met you. And you haven’t let up.” I look away, unable to meet his gaze as I continue. “I don’t ever want to be away from you either.”

He smiles, then follows me to the bathroom, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt while he watches me brush my teeth. I frown at his clothes as he starts to pull his shirt off and toss it into the hamper.

“Why do you have to wear suits all the time?” I grumble through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Appearance conveys power,” he says, continuing to undress. “I learned that even in my Moorish culture. The silks we wore, our hygiene, the way we kept our streets and buildings clean—it all communicated our status, our worth.”

He pauses, unbuckling his pants. “Damon actually adopted that practice over time. Though he came from wealth, when he became a vampire, inconspicuous seemed to be what he strived for. But I was against it. I maintained my power through my appearance, and it got me far in a lot of places.”

I rinse and gargle, then look up at him. He steps into the bathroom, grabbing my washcloth, then gently wipes the toothpaste from my cheeks. The tender gesture makes my heart skip.

“During chattel slavery in America, no matter how I presented myself, my skin color decreased my value in the eyes of white men, time and time again,” he says, his voice hardening with the memory. “But my wealth and my appearance always gave them pause.”

He gives me a wicked grin and leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek.

“I’m just a simple girl,” I tell him. “I like jeans and t-shirts.”

Amari pulls back and looks down at me, his expression amused. “You always dress for the occasion. Like that ‘fuck-me dress’ you wore for Ackley.”

I roll my eyes. “No need for the reminder of how desperate I was that night for some attention.”

His hands move down to my hips, pulling me closer. “You’ll never have to feel that way again. Because I’m here now.”

He pulls me closer and leans down, pressing his lips against mine. I hate the way my body just submits, just gives into whatever he wants when he gets like this. I gasp and let my head fall back, but Amari wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pulling my lips back to his.

The kiss deepens, his tongue slipping into my mouth, and I moan at the intensity. But he keeps it brief, pulling back to look down at me with that smug grin.