Page 46 of Fallen Heir

She shifted on the couch, tugging the edge of her sweater further down her thigh like she was trying to disappear into it. The discomfort was subtle—but it was there. She wasn’t at ease in her own skin. And that… that wasn’t what I wanted.

I wanted her to feel safe. Wanted her to feel like she could breathe again without looking over her shoulder.

But the way she curled inward, like she’d been stared at too many times for the wrong reasons—

It made me think about what I hadn’t seen. What scars still hid beneath that sweater. What other marks he left that hadn’t fully faded yet. I pushed the thought from my mind and cleared my throat.

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner. Just the two of us.” I leaned forward slightly. “I’m starving. Plus… Ben said you picked at your food at lunch.”

Her eyes narrowed, a little spark lighting in them. “What a snitch.”

I chuckled. It was soft, unexpected. “His intentions are good.”

She groaned and leaned her head back against the couch. “I’m gonna have to talk to him about that if he’s going to be watching over me constantly.”

There was a pause. Then, softly—“Speaking of… why him?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Because he’s the best. And I’m not taking any risks.”

Her gaze met mine again, and this time there was something heavier behind it. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down gently—maybe without even realizing it.

And just like that, my blood roared. Those lips. Wrapped around the rim of a coffee cup hours ago. Wrapped around her words now. All I could think about was what they’d feel like wrapped around me.

I shifted in my seat, my jaw tight. “So…” I said, forcing my voice steady, dragging my mind out of the gutter. “Dinner?”

She looked at me, eyes soft. “Yeah. But can we order in?”

I smiled—really smiled.

Heaven could’ve been five-star rooftop service or candlelit booths in the finest restaurant in Manhattan.

But her?

In leggings. With her hair up.Wrapped in comfort and scars and strength she didn’t even know she had?

There was nowhere I’d rather be. I just hoped for her sake, and mine, that I could contain the storm brewing inside my body.

“Yeah,” I said, already pulling out my phone to order. “Here’s perfect.”

Chapter 17

Savannah

He’d ordered Chinese.

To be honest, I was starving—and something about his presence made me feel like I could devour whatever food was placed in front of me.

Maybe it wasn’t the food at all.

Maybe it was just the way I wanted to devour him.

He sat on my couch like he owned the air around him. A black T-shirt clung to his body like it had been stitched there, every muscle etched beneath the fabric, every inch of ink on his skin drawing my eyes like a magnet.

Tattoos curled up his arms, dark and dangerous and intricate—like stories written across his flesh. I’d seen glimpses of them before. But now, in the golden warmth of my apartment, they felt… closer. More real.

They should’ve scared me.

They didn’t.