Page 16 of Guarded (Hopeless Blessed #3)

Noah

I ’d been right when I called myself a dick for not responding to Jeremiah.

But I’d also been right to be scared. Because with every conversation we’d had over the past few weeks, I’d found myself falling for him a little more.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not yet, anyway. Not until Jeremiah was ready to settle down. To resign himself to a life ruled by someone else.

I wasn’t sure he’d ever get there. Worse, I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. I wasn’t sure I’d want to take a mate if I were him. Especially one who was tied into a unit, and happily so.

My views hadn’t changed either. I still wanted to be with someone because they wanted me. Not because I was convenient. Not because fate said so. But because they couldn’t last another day without me in their life. That was what I wanted.

If my heart could get on board with that plan, then everything would be fine.

Tonight, I was planning the date. I’d decided a restaurant was a no-go. It was too intimate. I didn’t want my heart or brain getting any stupid ideas where Jeremiah was concerned. We were friends. And we’d continue being friends until we both agreed it was time for the next step.

I wasn’t surprised to turn the corner and see Jeremiah waiting for me. He’d been early to every one of our meetups, like he was trying to atone for the time he’d kept me waiting.

That, or he’s just so excited to see you that he can’t wait any longer.

Nope. Not thinking about that. My hopes and expectations were currently at an acceptable level. One where they couldn’t go careening to the ground and smash into pieces. For my sanity, that was exactly where they were going to stay.

He hadn’t noticed me yet, so I took the opportunity to drink him in.

His black Henley was almost skintight, showing off the muscles beneath.

His jeans were faded and worn, and again did nothing to disguise his physique.

A jacket was slung over his shoulder, hanging from one finger.

He’d gone for military style boots to finish off the look and, boy, was it working for him.

He’d had his hair cut again recently, faded on the sides and styled longer on top.

A simple haircut had no business looking as good on him as it did.

To a human, Jeremiah looked like the kind of male your mum would warn you away from.

To me though? I was just wondering what I could say to get him to fuck me while wearing nothing but those boots.

His outfit and hair weren’t the most striking things about him though. They never were. How could they be, when his face was so captivating? All sharp lines and angles, it was currently tilted towards the sun. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling slowly.

A pang of understanding had my footsteps faltering. There was no sunlight down in Hell. What Jeremiah was feeling right now was something we all took for granted.

This was why I didn’t want us to rush. Lord knew how many other firsts Jeremiah had yet to experience. With what he’d been through, I wouldn’t be responsible for taking a single one from him.

Jeremiah turned his head to face me as I drew closer. Fuck, his smile. How did he have the same one each time he saw me? He didn’t just smile with his lips, but his whole face. He was like a giant puppy spotting his owner. I swore, if he had a tail it’d be wagging right now.

I was no better. My own smile rose and I gave him a giddy little wave. What the fuck is that, Noah?

I couldn’t help myself. It was too damned hard when Jeremiah was this freaking happy to see me.When was the last time someone other than Jeremiah had smiled this big just because I was walking towards them?

That’d be right around never.

He pushed off the wall and walked towards me. We met right in front of the bookshop I’d picked for our date. Just like in the restaurant, Jeremiah didn’t seem to know how to greet me. His arms jerked and he bit his lip nervously.

His nerves made me giddy all over again. I was making him nervous. Me. Noah. How was that even possible?

Wanting to put him at ease, I took the lead again. Touching his shoulder lightly, I brushed my lips over his cheek. Jeremiah’s quick intake of breath had me wanting to leave them there. To maybe turn my head slightly and taste his lips instead.

Okay, if I was being completely honest, it wasn’t just Jeremiah’s reaction that had me wanting to do that. Every time I touched him, all the reasons why I shouldn’t went straight out the window.

That was why I kept these moments brief. It was too tempting. There were reasons to go slow. Very. Valid. Reasons.

It was a shame my cock disagreed with every single one of them.

“Hi.” I pulled back quickly, putting a step between us. “No flames this time? I’m disappointed.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes to the sky. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Nope,” I said cheerfully. I went to take his arm but remembered myself at the last second. Keep the touching to a minimum. “Are you ready to go in?”

Jeremiah eyed the bookshop and the brightly coloured sign on the door. “Is it bad to admit that I had to Google what a poetry slam is?”

I laughed throatily, nudging the door open. “You’re telling me Hell doesn’t hold poetry slam competitions as a form of torture?”

“Sadly, we’re not that creative,” he said drily, stepping in behind me. “We’re more ‘let’s see how many body parts we can remove before they lose consciousness’ type of torturers.”

I nodded solemnly. “You’ve got to respect the traditional methods. If you don’t, you lose the knowledge.”

Jeremiah chuckled as we took a table towards the back of the room. “Exactly. True torture is an art form.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Unlike others in the Seraphim, torture was an area where my skills weren’t often useful. “Anyway, I think Hell’s missing a trick by not using bad poetry. There’s a whole plotline based on it in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy .”

Jeremiah tilted his head, puzzled. “What’s that?”

I started to laugh. How had he not heard of it?

Because he’s been in Hell, Noah. He’s missed out on almost everything.

The laughter died in my throat and I couldn’t help reaching out to squeeze Jeremiah’s hand. Just once. That was all I’d allow myself. “It’s a book. A really funny one, actually.”

He flipped his hand over and laced our fingers together. “Maybe I’ll buy a copy to take with me on my travels.”

It was a timely reminder. Jeremiah had places to go and lots of firsts to experience. If I let him too close, it’d be all the more painful when he left.

“Why don’t you go grab it now? We’ve got time before the slam starts.” I pulled my hand away, needing the distance. My smile was bright, but it dimmed at the flicker of rejection in Jeremiah’s eyes.

He covered it quickly as he got to his feet. “Good idea.”

I exhaled slowly as he vanished from sight. It didn’t do a thing to calm my racing heart. I took my left hand into my right and stroked the palm thoughtfully. It was hot still, burning from where it had been in contact with Jeremiah’s skin.

Not in a painful way. It burned the way a fire gives warmth. The way it keeps humans alive in the coldest of winters. How it acts as a beacon of hope in the darkness.

It didn’t make it any less dangerous though. Jeremiah’s fire would burn me alive if I let it.

He sat back down beside me, sliding the book onto the table. “Please tell me this is the right one. The girl behind the till scared me a little when I told her I hadn’t read it. ”

I tapped the cover. “It’s a bit of a cult classic. Well, in Britain anyway. There’s a film of it too, but I prefer the book.”

His lips curved and a fresh set of butterflies burst from their cocoons. “Then it’s definitely the book for me. I’ll read it this month and…maybe we can talk about it?”

I mean, come on. How the fuck was I supposed to not fall for him? He wasn’t just listening to what I was interested in, he was actively seeking it out and taking an interest himself.

Dangerous. That’s what Jeremiah was. A danger to my heart and the carefully constructed walls I’d spent so long building.

I smiled shyly. “I’d like that.”

Someone stepped onto the low makeshift stage and started fussing with the mic. Jeremiah took the opportunity to lean closer and whisper in my ear. “If you align poetry with torture, why did you choose this for our date?”

I couldn’t tell him the real reason—that it was less intimate than eating by candlelight. That our conversation wouldn’t be able to get too deep because we’d be listening to others.

That I was fucking terrified of how much I liked him. That was the real reason.

Obviously, I didn’t say that. “Only bad poetry. Let’s hope this doesn’t fall into that category.”

Jeremiah shot me a bemused look as an older lady took to the stage. With her flowing skirts and multiple scarves, she fit every stereotype of what I’d been expecting tonight.

See? Everything’s going according to the plan.

But then they dimmed the lights and a hush descended.

It shouldn’t have made a difference. Both Jeremiah and I had superior senses. We could see almost as well in darkness as we could in full daylight.

For some reason though, it did.

I was suddenly acutely aware of how close he was.

Our elbows were resting on the table, mere inches apart.

Shoulders and knees brushed, the material doing little to contain the sparks passing between us.

I could turn my head slightly and take his lips with mine.

And, with every heartbeat that passed, I was forgetting why I shouldn’t.

This place was a terrible idea.

A smattering of applause broke out and I jumped to join in. Shit. The first lady was done already, and I’d been too obsessed with Jeremiah to pay any attention.

Perhaps if I did, I’d be able to control myself better. When the next person took to the stage, I fixed my eyes on them determinedly. I was going to listen this time. Listen and enjoy it.

Two stanzas later, and I realised the flaw in that.