Even though his mind told him he should move once he felt her body relaxing again into sleep, he couldn’t pull himself away from her.
In fact, he was almost asleep when she asked tremulously, “I woke you up?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You stopped the worst part.”
“Cordova?”
“Every time.” He pressed his face down into her hair, grateful for her warmth and scent and softness. “Plymouth?”
She shuddered against him and he tightened his grip on her. “I can’t forget it,” she admitted.
“It’s okay to accept that.”
“Have you?”
“I’ve accepted she’s gone.”
Silence.
Finally, “Do you acknowledge that you couldn’t have done anything else?”
She had him there. He shifted uncomfortably. “No.”
She didn’t let him pull away. Instead, she nuzzled in closer. When she sighed, he could feel her body loosening even more, the pull of sleep winning her over. “You’ll keep me safe from them?” she asked.
Mercenaries or nightmares, his answer was the same. “Of course.”
Emmaline blinked slowly, trying to shrug off the remnants of the dream. There was darkness, the sensation of weight across her chest, uncertainty of where she was. There was a low grumble next to her and the weight on her chest disappeared.
She turned her head and saw Peirce stretched out beside her. His blonde hair was plastered down unevenly from his fitful sleep. She took in his long eyelashes, the narrow scar across an eyebrow, the sign of a formerly broken nose.
It was his mouth that really fascinated her. Even in his sleep, Peirce scowled. Before she’d seen him smile, she’d wondered if he didn’t know how to move his face into any expression other than a scowl, a smirk or a leer. Now she knew that he only smiled on rare occasions.
She couldn’t help herself. She traced his lips with a finger, still unable to comprehend this mouth had been on hers. She’d never tell him since it was far too embarrassing, but his kiss had been better than she’d ever imagined.
Her fingertip had just brushed the other corner of his mouth when those blue eyes snapped open and stared right at her. She was frozen, finger still on his lips, nervous and guilty about getting caught.
To her surprise, he just blinked at her and closed his eyes again.
“I—” she began.
“Give me ten more minutes and I’ll get up to shower,” he interrupted, settling in deeper to his pillow.
“Oh. Okay.”
She was getting out of the bed when his arm snaked out and pulled her back to him. He made a noise of appreciation and mumbled, “You smell good.”
“Thank you?”
But he was out again. Probably a military trick…He must have been used to getting sleep whenever and however he could.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to doze for a little bit.
She didn’t wake until the shower turned off. Peirce emerged wearing nothing but a towel and some lucky water droplets. One slid down his shoulder, over his pec, down to the scars, tripping over the uneven skin and vanished as it soaked into the towel.