Page 41 of Twisted Truths (The Sunburnt Hearts #4)

I’m unable to hear the other person on the phone but I still hold my breath, waiting to listen to Nash’s side of the conversation.

“Yeah, he came past here earlier.” They must be talking about the police officer. His eyes dart to mine before looking away again. “Just a friend.”

My chest tightens despite knowing he’s only trying to keep me safe.

If people know I’m hiding here and it gets back to the Circle, our lives, and possibly Franklin’s, will be in even more danger.

As far as Guardian Solomon and Seraphina are concerned, Gabriel and I are as far away from Barrenridge as we can get.

While that might be true for Gabriel, I’m a sitting duck.

I shouldn’t have made myself known in front of the police officer earlier.

“Tell Paige thanks, but it’s really not necessary.

There’s meat in the freezer and I have Mum and Paul’s cars if I need to get anything from town.

I’m good.” There’s a long pause. “Give me a day or two out here and then I’ll swing past. I just need some time to get my head around all of this.

” He’s also buying time for Gabriel to get back from Sydney because I know Nash would never leave me alone and unprotected. “Thanks, I appreciate it. Bye.”

“Everything okay?” I ask when he pockets his phone.

He nods. “Shane caught up with Levi. Told him about Crawley.”

“And me?” I guess.

“And you,” Nash confirms, running a hand over his face. He looks so tired.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, running my fingers over the stuffed toys in the box.

“What are you apologising for?” he asks, surprise coating his tone.

“I feel like I’m complicating your life.”

He pulls me into his arms. “You’re the only uncomplicated thing in my life right now.”

I lift my head, and he leans down to capture my lips in a soft kiss. It’s over far too quickly, and he rests his forehead against mine.

He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip, his warm breath fanning my flushed skin when he says, “I wouldn’t have gotten through today without you. Hell, I wouldn’t have made it through these past few days. You’re my light in the dark, little possum.”

My heart swells at his words. His nickname wraps around something fragile inside my chest and holds me steady.

I’ve been lost for so long, drifting, but I finally feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.

The way Nash looks at me, like I’m not just a distraction from the pain, but something real, makes me feel whole again.

For the first time in my life, I feel hope.

Casting a look around the half-empty room filled with boxes, he sighs. “This can wait. I need a distraction.” My stomach flutters as I let him pull me from Rylan’s room, but I’m surprised when we end up in the kitchen.

Nash releases my hand, and I lean against the bench as he pulls out ingredients—flour, sugar, cocoa powder, choc chips, butter, and eggs.

“You want to bake?” I ask when he places a mixing bowl and baking tray next to me.

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a cheeky grin I’ve never seen on him before. My pulse spikes, a rush of warmth washing over me at the way he’s trying to create something normal in a world that’s anything but. “I thought we could use something sweet after the emotional rollercoaster of today.”

My chest squeezes at the thought. He’s grieving, bleeding on the inside, and yet here he is, trying to bake cookies or brownies or whatever these ingredients will turn into.

“You’re going to have to show me what to do,” I tell him. “I’ve never baked before.”

He arches a brow. “Never?”

“Never,” I confirm.

“Well, little possum,” he says, tossing me a measuring cup like it’s a challenge. “Time to get your hands dirty.”

I catch it—barely—and move to his side. He shows me how to mix the dry ingredients, but as I’m pouring the flour into the sieve, my hand slips and white powder puffs up into the air … and all over my face.

Nash bursts out laughing, a deep, rich sound that fills the room.

“What?” I say, cheeks heating as I brush at my face.

“You’ve got flour—” he reaches out and swipes his thumb gently across my nose.

“You’re not a very good instructor,” I grumble, scrunching my face.

He laughs again.

“Or maybe you’re just chaos in the kitchen.”

I dip my hand in the bag of flour and flick it at his shirt. “Oops.”

His eyes narrow playfully. “Oh, you’re dead.”

He grabs a bit of cocoa powder and swipes it across my cheek.

I squeal and grab the first thing my fingers land on, which happens to be an egg, and before I can think about what I’m doing, I reach up and smash it on his head.

The gooey mess trickles through his curls, and I can’t stop the surprised squeak of laughter that escapes my lips as I stare at him in disbelief.

“I’m going to regret that,” I giggle.

“Oh, you most definitely will,” he says, and then he’s chasing me around the kitchen, both of us laughing like we haven’t in a long time. It’s ridiculous, and messy, and free. Perfect in the most imperfect way.

Eventually, he corners me, both of us out of breath. I’m pressed between him and the bench, our laughter fading into something quieter, heavier. His eyes drop to my lips, and mine to his.

“You’re a disaster,” he murmurs, brushing a bit of flour from my jaw.

“So are you.”

His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. “Guess we’re a perfect match.”

Our kiss is slow and sweet. His fingers tangle in my hair, and I melt against him. He tastes like sugar, and I lose myself in the tantalising way his tongue strokes mine. He’s kissing me like we have all the time in the world to explore our connection.

Nash’s lips don’t leave mine as his hands drop lower and he lifts me into his strong arms. I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as he carries me to the mudroom.

He sets me on the bench, breaking our kiss only long enough to pull his shirt over his head. My hands run over his muscular chest, loving the way his body contracts under my touch. He cups my cheeks, devouring my mouth like a man starved.

When he finally pulls away, both of us panting for air, his lust-filled gaze searches my own. “We should get cleaned up,” he murmurs with a lopsided grin.

“We should,” I agree, nodding. Biting my lip, I grip the hem of my top and lift it over my head.

Sitting in front of him in nothing but a simple white bra and yoga pants, I fight the urge to cover myself. The heat in his eyes as his tongue darts out over his bottom lip has me burning up, desperate for his hands on me, for him to make me feel everything the way he did last night.

His gaze doesn’t leave mine as he steps back, reaching in to turn on the taps. Gaining a rush of confidence, I reach behind me and undo the clasp, slowly pulling the material from my body. It barely hits the floor before Nash growls and crosses the room to sweep me into his arms again.

His tongue pushes into my mouth as my legs wrap around his waist. My pebbled nipples ache where they touch his skin.

His hard bulge pressing against my core makes me whimper.

Nash swallows my sinful sounds, stepping into the shower, despite both of us being clothed from the waist down.

The water cascades over us, and my pants stick to my skin, but I’m too caught up in the moment to care.

My back hits the cool tiles and we both moan as he grinds against me.

“Nash,” I murmur against his lips. “I need you.”

“I got you, little possum.”

Of that, I have no doubt.