He frowned.
“Wolverine? Storm? Cyclops? Rogue?”
Wait.
“Are you asking if I can turn into a wolverine?” he said hopefully.
This went in circles for a few increasingly confusing minutes until Theo established that (1) the X-Men were fictional superheroes, not real life shifters and (2) Wolverine could not turn into a wolverine. He stressed again that he was from a very small town.
“This makes me want to show you so many movies,” Jillian said. “You’re my perfect blank slate. Do you even know the twist ending of The Sixth Sense? Do you know who killed Dumbledore?”
Theo brightened. “I know who killed Dumbledore.”
He had always loved to read. As sparsely as his apartment was furnished—dragons tended to be very picky where they made their dens, and the glossy townhouse still didn’t feel like home to him—its wall-to-wall bookshelves were full. It was the one tie he still felt to his parents, who had loved books themselves. Not just their prized first editions or their ancient volumes printed on vellum but their vintage science fiction paperbacks and their complete sets of Miss Marple mysteries. They were the part of his inheritance he most valued.
Then the conversation turned to the two of them recommending books to each other. Unsurprisingly, given her profession, Jillian read many children’s and young adult novels, and her enthusiasm for them was contagious. She started writing titles down for him on a cocktail napkin and he did the same for her, remembering old fantasy novels like Lud-in-the-Mist and boisterous, clever mysteries like The Moving Toyshop.
“Wait,” Jillian said, capping her pen. “I forgot. What did you want to confess to?”
He had only a second to decide if now was his chance or not, and then the second passed. “I wanted to say again that I’m worried. I don’t think you and Tiffani should spend another night here.”
“She was planning on leaving tomorrow morning. I’m just staying in town to help her get settled into her new place.”
“And she has that lined up already?”
“Yeah, but she’s allowed access to the house until the sale goes through, right?”
He nodded. “Some of the furniture and other valuables will go before then, but she doesn’t have to go with it. I just think she should.”
And so should you.
“I just don’t want her life to keep getting jerked around by other people making decisions for her.”
He admired her loyalty all the more because she gave it by her own choice. That streak of principle, hard as steel, was a draconian quality: I will not spend myself on what I do not value. But Jillian, unlike anyone he had grown up with, went further. On what, and whom, she valued, she would give and pay and give and pay. That was human. When he looked at her, he saw the two halves of himself made into a whole more seamless than he ever felt.
Reluctantly, he said, “Then neither one of us will decide for her. It’s her call whether or not to leave tonight, but, Jillian, I want to tell her that I think she should.”
“That’s fair.”
“If she wants to stay, you’re staying too?”
She gave a firm, decisive nod that made her hair bounce around adorably.
“Then I would like to stay here to look after the both of you, if you’ll have me.”
He didn’t know what he would do if she said no. He wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing that she was safe.
A distracting fantasy suggested that perhaps he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, not without her by his side, in his bed. He could just see her long auburn hair spread out against the pillow, making her look like she was floating. He could almost feel the smooth, creamy skin of her inner thighs. If the taste of her mouth was beyond compare, what would she taste like between her legs?
Jillian said, “Of course I’ll have you,” and then darkened to a red that almost matched her hair. “Who wouldn’t? Are there people who detest having hot bodyguards around?”
“Maybe. But I’ll do my best to stifle my natural attractiveness.”
“See that you do.”
Despite his best intentions to remain clearheadedly chaste, the better to protect her, he couldn’t bring himself to ask her to do the same.
5