Page 270

Cullen kisses my neck in response.
I groan. “You might not start it, Mr. Cullen, but you sure do finish it.”
His kisses turn into laughter against my shoulder. I wait for his laughter to subside and for his lips to find mine again, but instead Cullen pulls away. His eyes are squeezed shut and his chest is heaving.
I recognize that pained expression.
Instantly, the mood changes.
“Cullen…”
“It’s alright.” He stops me before I can ask a million questions about his pain level. “Let’s eat first. I need to take my medication or the only thing I’ll be doing in bed is wheezing.”
I smile bravely and take the hand he offers.
Cullen makes breakfast while I hug him from behind, clinging to him as I have been for the past few days.
I know it must get annoying having me on him like a second skin. Big whup. I don’t want to share him with his clothes, with the bathroom, with the shower, or with the rest of the world yet.
I watch Cullen carefully as he takes his pills and then I log it in my phone where I have alarms set up for each medicine. Apartfrom the alarms, I also keep a record of how many doses he has left and what to do if he has adverse symptoms.
This go round, I plan on being way more informed. I’m keeping this man alive for as long as humanly possible.
After Cullen plates the food and slides it over to me, I plunge my fork into a strawberry.
“I think I have an answer for why I can’t keep my hands off you,” I tell him, munching happily.
He stops and watches me with his gorgeous silver eyes. The familiar black beanie sits securely on his head, hiding his baldness from me. I wish he’d feel comfortable enough to take it off more. I’ve never cared about superficial details like that.
“Maybe I have a thing for ghosts,” I say.
“What?” He laughs out loud.
I stare at him frankly. “I don’t know what it is, but you came back from the deadten timeshotter, Cullen.”
He stares at me, assessing my face.
And then suddenly, he drops his fork.
I squeal when he storms over to me, grabs me by the waist and sets me firmly on top of the table.
“W-what are you doing?” I clamor as he undoes my robe. “Cullen, your medicine hasn’t taken effect yet.”
“I’m fine. This won’t exhaust me.”
“B-but shouldn’t we finish our pancakes first?”
He pushes me back so I’m flat on the table. “Rather than breakfast…” he looks up with a wicked gleam in his eyes, “I’ll just have dessert.”
Our passion moves us from the table and to the bedroom. It’s where we stay until mid-afternoon when our growling stomachs force us to indulge in something other than each other.
“Let’s order take out,” Cullen says, stretching his long, pale hand to the phone.
For a second, I’m dazed by the beautiful sight of his sinewy back muscles flexing. The man is a pure, lean machine. His surgery scars only add to his raw, masculine appeal.
But I come back to myself when Cullen says, “How about steak and wine?”
“Steak and… are you crazy?” I slap the phone out of his hand.