Page 93 of Earning Her Trust

“It’s not stupid.” His voice was rough. “I should have told you where I was going.”

“I kicked you out, remember?” She attempted a smile, but it felt brittle on her face. “I’m the one who said I needed space.”

“And then I stayed away all day.” His jaw tightened. “I needed to think.”

The words sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the night air. She’d pushed him away, and he’d needed to think. About what? About them? About whether this—whatever this was between them—was worth the trouble?

“About?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Ghost’s eyes held hers, the moonlight catching the silver in them. “About what happens next.”

Her stomach dropped. She’d spent the day thinking she needed independence, space to breathe, to prove she wasn’t broken by what had happened. Now that he was standing here, the thought of him walking away was a cliff’s edge she wasn’t prepared to face.

“And I wanted to get something,” he added and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a long box. “For you.”

She stared at the box, her heart suddenly in her throat. It was black velvet, long and narrow—the kind that usually held jewelry. A bracelet, maybe. Or a necklace.

“What?” she whispered in disbelief.

Ghost didn’t answer, just held the box out to her. His face remained impassive, but uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Vulnerability.

She reached out and accepted it with fingers that suddenly felt clumsy. The velvet was soft against her skin as she opened the lid.

Inside, nestled on black satin, lay a slender silver pendant on a delicate chain. A fox, its body curved into a graceful arc, with tiny gems for eyes that caught the moonlight and flashed amber.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, running her fingertip along the fox’s back.

He closed the distance between them and lifted the necklace out. “It’s to keep you safe. One press here…” He skimmed his thumb over a nearly invisible button behind the fox’s bushy tail. “And it sends a signal directly to me. No matter where you are, I’ll know you need help. I’ll be there.”

She stared at the pendant, her throat suddenly tight. The fox gleamed in the moonlight, beautiful and fierce. Not a panic button disguised as jewelry, but a promise made physical.

“You don’t have to wear it,” he added when she didn’t speak. “But after what happened...” His words trailed off, the unfinished sentence hanging between them.

After what happened. After she’d been taken, drugged, beaten. After he’d found her carrying two terrified girls through the rain and mud. After everything, he was still trying to protect her.

“Help me put it on?” she asked, turning and lifting her hair away from her neck.

His fingers brushed against her skin as he fastened the clasp, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The fox settled just below the hollow of her throat, cool against her skin.

She turned back to him, one hand rising to touch the pendant. “Thank you.”

Ghost nodded once, his eyes fixed on the fox now resting against her collarbone. Something shifted in his expression—a softening around the edges, a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. “It suits you.”

Heat crept up from the caress of his gaze, filling her cheeks. “I don’t know about that. I’ve always been more rabbit than fox.”

He caught her hand before it could flutter up to cover the pendant. “No, you haven’t. They called you ‘Rabbit’ because they wanted you small. Wanted you scared. But you’re not. You’re sharp and fast and brave as hell. You’re cunning and beautiful and slyly dangerous.” He slid his hand up her arm to cup her cheek. “You’re a fox, Fury. You always have been.”

His words struck something deep inside her, something raw and vulnerable. No one had ever seen her that way before—not as the scared little rabbit her community had nicknamed her, but as someone fierce and capable.

Naomi leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, her heart hammering against her ribs. But when his hand slid into her hair, when he pulled her closer with a low sound of need, something inside her broke free.

She deepened the kiss, her hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer. The fox pendant pressed between them, warming against her skin. Ghost backed her against the cabin wall, his body hard and unyielding against hers, and the contrast of the cold wood at her back and his heat at her front sent a shiver racing through her.

“Inside,” she gasped against his mouth. “Now.”

He pulled back just enough to search her face, his gray eyes dark with want but cautious. “Your ribs?—”

“Will be fine,” she said, tugging him toward the door. “I’m not made of glass, Owen.”