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The long dinner with Mrs. H. The teasing. The walk home. The shower.
A rush of warmth crept up my neck at the memory, at the way his hands had gripped me, the way his mouth had moved against mine. It had been more than just sex. More than just need.
It had beenhim.
And now, he was here.
I let my gaze wander over his sleeping form. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm stretched toward me, his fingers curled slightly where they rested on my hip. His face was turned to the side, pressed against the pillow, his mouth slightly parted as he exhaled deep, slow breaths. His usually sharp features were softened in sleep, making him look younger, more unguarded.
I suddenly realized something. He wasvulnerable.
Exhaling slowly, I trailed my fingers lightly over his shoulder, tracing the curve of muscle beneath sun-warmed skin. He didn’t stir, just let out a quiet sigh, his body completely at ease.
I swallowed, my fingers continuing their slow exploration—down his arm, over the ridge of his knuckles, then back up to his shoulder. Touching him like this felt dangerous, like I was toeing the edge of something I wasn’t ready to name.
Everything was happening so fast—toofast.
The thought crept in uninvited, curling around my ribs, squeezing tight.
Two months ago, Elliot hadn’t even been in my life. And now?
Now he was everything. He was my first thought in the morning and the last one before I fell asleep. He infested my daydreams at work and drove my night dreams into madness, often a sticky madness. I craved his breath, his touch, his simple gaze.
Fucking Elliot Hart consumed me.
That realization sent another ripple of unease through me.
Because if I let myself need him, what would happen when he left?
Not if.When.
I didn’t have the best luck with men. Far from it. I fell too hard, and they ran too fast. It was the way of things. It was my pattern.
And Elliot wasn’t the kind of man who stayed.
He lived his life on the move, going wherever the next storm took him.
And I—God—was already too invested.
I let my fingers glide lower, ghosting down his spine.
How had this happened?
We were so different, opposites in many ways. Hell, we barely spoke the same language half the time. Not literally, of course, but still . . .
I’d been careful. At least, I thought I had. I knew better than to let myself get caught up in something I couldn’t control, but Elliot had slipped past my defenses before I even realized I had them up.
I wanted to believe he felt it, too.
That he wouldn’t have asked me to stay if this wasn’t something.
But I’d been wrong before.
I had fallen too fast before.
And every single time it had ended the same way—with me being left behind.
Would Elliot do that, too?