Page 121 of Hurt

It started slowly. He began blinking and scratching at his neck idly. Tears formed on the tips of his dark lashes, and he coughed once, then twice.

“It’s uh…spicy.”

“Really? I only added a few peppers…” Willow took a bite and chewed the soft pasta. It didn’t really taste right, but it wasn’t hot.

Roland reached for the glass of water and downed the entire glass. He took a deep breath and exhaled with his mouth open.

“Are you okay?”

Roland grunted, then nodded.

“Let’s just order a pizza or something,” Willow said as she stared down at the soupy mess of food. It was borderline inedible.

Roland shook his head. “No, it’s good.”

Willow sat back in her chair and eyed him. “It is?”

“Yes.” The amber eyes that looked across the table at him were wet. “You made it.”

The sincere look on his face made Willow’s heart twinge. Watching Roland bent over his plate and try to force himself to eat the worst food ever made did something to Willow. A perverse feeling of pleasure bloomed in her heart with the knowledge that no one else had seen him like this—so earnestly trying not to hurt Willow’s feelings.

He speared a bowtie pasta and lifted the fork to his mouth. There was a twitch in his eyebrows.

“Roland, stop,” Willow said with a huff. She stood and leaned over the table, taking the fork from the man’s solid hand. “It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like it.”

Roland stared at the hand on his. “I don’t mind…”

Willow laughed. “All right, so cooking isn’t my thing. I have other skills.”

Her thumb stroked across Roland’s wrist. She could feel the veins and muscles moving under his skin.

“I’m much better at sex.”

It was so obvious it hurt. Willow didn’t so much as lob the flirtation as she dropped it right in Roland’s face.

The tips of Roland’s ears went pink, and a soft blush colored his cheeks.

“Mn,” he answered noncommittally.

With a huff of annoyance, Willow crawled up onto the table and scooted so she was on her knees on the edge. Looking down at Roland, she could see the pink coloring his cheeks ever so faintly. It was adorable.

“I’ve been here for a week, Roland. You haven’t touched me.”

Roland swallowed.

The sight of his Adams Apple bobbing sent a delicious sort of thrill down Willow’s back. Like it was the beginning of something. Roland was a perfectly wrapped present, and everyone knows that presents were meant to be unwrapped.

Lithely, thanks to years of dancing, she slipped off the table and landed in Roland’s lap. The tall man blinked in surprise. Those beautiful golden eyes did so so many things to Willow that they shouldn’t. They tore her apart inside and then remade the pieces into something better.

She kissed him. Without warning, without flirting. Without even intending to do it, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought their lips together. Not for any reason except that she couldn’t do anything else. Willow needed him in a way that transcended her petty flirting and desire to fill that hole of loneliness.

When had she fallen for Roland? Had it been so fast she didn’t notice until she was fully ensnared in those burly arms, or was it slow and incremental? So slow that one day she looked up and there was no one else in the world.

It didn’t matter. Roland was breathing breaths that belonged to Willow, and she wanted them back.

They kissed until the world blurred around her, and she no longer could feel any part of herself except Roland’s lips on hers. Somewhere far away, she could feel the table edge digging into her kidneys, but even that sharp sting of pain added to the medley of sensations.

Roland was warm and strong. His hands felt huge splayed across Willow’s skin. His fragrance filled her senses, and it made her heart skip a beat. When did a scent have such an effect on her?