Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

In any case, I’m not backing down now, not stopping to think about it, because it feels good to take care of him, to make sure he’s okay in my turn.

If feels right.

“What are you up to?” Jarett asks sleepily. He’s still in Merc’s borrowed sweats and T-shirt, though he’s chucked off the sweater. He’s on his side, the covers drawn up to his chest, those tattooed arms folded over my hot pink quilt, and…

What did he just ask me?

“I’m just… going to get changed,” I tell him, waving my nightgown at him.

He gives me a faint smirk. “I’ve seen you naked, sweets, or did you forget?”

How could I forget?

“You look better,” I whisper. The color has returned to his face, and he’s stopped shivering.

“Warmer,” he admits. “It will be even warmer when you come to bed.”

“Let me change. Won’t be a minute.” Because it’s somehow different having him rip the clothes off me to have sex with me and this… thing we’re doing tonight. Lying together in my bed, to sleep.

For warmth. For comfort.

I don’t think he’d been only cold before, I think as I hurry to the bathroom and close the door, then proceed to shuck off my clothes and pull on my nightie. He’d seemed… shaken. And now he’s acting as if nothing happened. As if the five minutes that passed between saying he’s sorry and me helping him under the covers have flipped the switch, and he’s back to his arrogant self.

I’m puzzling over this as I return to the room, not happy about this, and yet happy he doesn’t seem so sad anymore. So lost.

Lost, yes. That’s the word I’d been looking for. Since I found him outside the nursing home, he seemed lost.

No, scratch that. He seemed that way since I first met him. I hadn’t realized then, but as I enter the room and find him dozing, I know it’s true. All the things he said, all the bits and pieces fit into the picture.

Why is he so lost?

His breathing is even, his face relaxed, one inked arm folded under his head, the other over the covers. He has a light dark stubble on his jaw, and his lips are slightly parted. His dark hair has dried, and it falls messily over his forehead, and I see his strong collarbone through the T-shirt’s neckline. His broad chest rises and falls, and oh man, it’s still so hard to believe he’s in my bed. Like I should grab my phone and take pictures as proof.

But I don’t.

Instead I find myself holding my breath, transfixed. He’s so beautiful. And I stand there, observing him as he sleeps, feeling like Edward observing Bella sleep in an inverted Twilight world.

Don’t be a creepy perv, I tell myself, but I can’t stop looking, and now I know what Edward must have felt.

Apart from the blood craving, that is.

He twitches suddenly, lashes fluttering, and I open my mouth to say something, anything, when his eyes open and fix on me.

Standing there.

Staring at him.

Shit.

But he only blinks a few times, his expression puzzled, and then a smile spreads on his face. It’s soft, and sweet, and breathtaking.

I approach the bed, and he lifts the quilt to let me in beside him.

Surreal. This is surreal.

I’ve never slept with a guy in the same bed before. Okay, except maybe with Merc when we were little, but not since I grew boobs.

My whole body tingles as I ease in between the sheets, expecting cold and finding them warm from his body. I’m hyper-aware of how close we are, closer than ever, even though we’re both fully dressed and not even touching.