Page 79 of Wild Card

Or more? Could he mean more?

I turn away from his still form, place the oil on his bedside table, and flick off the light, plunging us into a lavender-scented darkness.

Should I? Shouldn’t I?

For a girl who’s accustomed to running, the decision to stay with Bash is all too easy to make.

With my back to him, I confess quietly, “I don’t want to leave either.”

And when I turn back to face him, he’s pulled the covers open—a silent invitation for me to join him beneath them.

I stare at the spot where I know I’ll fit so perfectly, wondering if I’m crossing a line I shouldn’t.

I decide I don’t care. I decide that where Sebastian Rousseau is concerned, I’ll take what I can get. It might not be forever, but I’ll settle for right now.

So I slip under the duvet and let him hold me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BASH

I wake like I’ve just been jolted back to life—hard, fast, and alert all at once. A strip of bright light slices across the room from the split in the blackout curtains as I check my watch—it’s 10 a.m. A time I neversleep to.

I must have needed it. A hard reset.

Beside me, the sheets are rumpled—proof that Gwen did, in fact, spend the night in my bed.

It was something I needed. Something I always wanted when I came back from a job. And she didn’t hesitate.

The intimacy of last night satisfied a craving I didn’t even know I had. Gwen had known what I needed without me having to explain it to her. Then she’d told me more about herself than ever before.

I understand her better now.

More than that, I feel attached.

I don’t want any awkward tension between us. I want the gentleness of last night. And when my feet hit the floor, I tell myself that today is a new day. If I want things to be like that between us, I can do my part to keep them that way.

A new day where I can try being nicer.

No—kinder.

Ever since that conversation, the distinction has stuck with me. I don’t know if I can force myself to have a nicer, more palatable personality, but I can always be kind.

In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and study my reflection. I look tired, but not as worn down as yesterday. I feel a bit blue but not depressed and cynical like yesterday.

It makes me wonder if she was onto something when she asked about my mental and emotional well-being. Truth is, I’ve ignored both lately.

The prospect of facing Gwen this morning has me unsettled. Without my surliness to hide behind, I feel vulnerable. Soft, sensitive, and easily wounded.

It’s also harder to convince myself I don’t want her when I’m feeling this exposed. Propping my hands on the counter, I stare back at myself in the mirror.

I can be safe and kind.

I can be mature and kind.

I can be kind to Gwen without fucking her.

Of course I can. I’m a grown man. I’m a highly skilled pilot. I kick ass under pressure. I’ll even apologize for my past behavior, really own my shit.