Page 80 of Guarded Knight

We stay like that for a while, quiet and warm and still sticky with each other’s skin. Eventually, he shifts beneath me, and I start to feel awkward having made such a massive confession.

But we’re good like that… one of us always knows how to lighten the space.

He kisses the top of my head. “Let’s do something reckless.”

I blink up at him, glad to see a glint in his eye.

“Let me use your toothbrush.”

I snort, relieved at the change of tone. I’m not ready for rejection or talks about our ill-fated future. Not tonight. Not when the air between us is fragile enough to shatter with one wrong word.

“You really are full of yourself if you think I like you that much,” I smirk. “But I have a spare.”

He sits up and snags his boxer briefs from the floor, unfortunately putting himself away. His muscular frame owns several scars and a tattoo in beautiful calligraphy that reads:John 15:13.

I run my fingers over it. “I never knew you had this.”

“I got it in the military.”

“What is that verse?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, bicep flexing. “It’s nothing.”

I glance around for my shirt, and it’s all the way across the room somehow. “Come on.”

“Fine.” He recites, “Greater love no one has than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

My Lord, CF has nothing on the death by swoon I am experiencing with this man.

But he shrugs it off. “Yeah, I know.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Martyr complex.”

But wasn’t that exactly what he did overseas?

I take his hand more seriously now. “It’s so you. Not a martyr. A selfless protector.”

He drops his gaze to the floor. He’s never been good with praise. I want to press harder, make him see what I see. Instead, I soften and help him in this moment the way only we know how.

“Take the compliment, G.” I slide into his lap, our bodies reconnecting like they never want to part. “But if you start turning water into wine, I might not let you leave this room ever again.”

That earns me a smirk.

“Now that would be a noble task.” He squeezes my ass in his giant palm. “Let’s grab a shower.”

He lifts me, my legs wrap around his waist, and he carries me like I weigh no more than a flea. Then I have the best damn shower of my life. The man washes every inch of my body, worshipping it.

After that, we make our way into the living room. Freya’s tote bag is by the door. The broken glass is gone, wiped clean like the whole thing never happened.

What will Arthur’s place will look like afterward if Cameron enters it? The now tidy space is a lie of order over the chaos underneath.

Here I was, pretending I could live inside that lie for one more night.

I’m so grateful for my best friend.

She saw the wreckage, fixed it, and tiptoed back out again.

That’s what we do for each other. We fix things for each other without needing trumpets and fanfare. I wish tomorrow I didn’t have to deal with reality again and could just hop on Freya’s bed in the morning so we could squeal and kick our feet as I tell her about the sexy man in my bed like a normal woman would.

But that’s not in the cards.