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Fucking hell. This man.
“I’m not even sure what to say to that,” I murmur softly, the words escaping before I can really think about them.
It’s not my fault that my brain has turned into mush. It’s all his fault. With his big body pressed against mine. His delicious leather with a hint of citrus scent wraps around me and makes me feel like I’m floating in the clouds.
I can admit, if only to myself, that I love the way his hands feel on my body. After the night we spent together I knew I was ruined for all other men. That doesn’t mean I was willing to give the man my heart on a silver platter. Hell no, been there done that and it was nearly impossible not to lose myself in the pain of it all.
And that was with men who don’t mean nearly as much to me as Crosby does. Losing him would destroy me.
It’s better to keep my distance and not risk it.
Right?
“Firefly,” he croons softly, pulling me from my thoughts and spiraling emotions. This man has the ability to throw me off balance completely and he’s not even a little bit ashamed about it considering the way his eyes are alight with mirth. “There you are,” he praises when I focus back on him. My cheeks flushing is something I have zero control over even though I wish I did. “You don’t have to say anything, I know your heart and I know we’re meant to be together.”
That doesn’t just shake me out of the lust and euphoria, it catapults me back into the land of the living with my sanity fully intact. I step backwards out of his hold and ignore the way my heart sinks when he lets me go. His dark eyes study me but give nothing away.
“You can’t say things like that to me,” I lick my lips and then force his name past them because tempting fate is not on my agenda for the night, “Crosby.”
“Why not?” His eyes narrow in a way that would have most people hearing warning bells going off in their head, but I know this giant man is no threat to me. He’s proven it over the last few months. Even though I can feel his frustration, even a hint of annoyance, his voice is calm, “I’m only speaking the truth. You’re mine, Sioux,” there’s a finality in his words that has my heart melting even as I stand tall.
I smooth my hands down my torso and over the tops of my thighs, wishing the floor would swallow me right about now. It’s becoming more difficult to resist this man every day. There is a huge part of me wondering why I’m fighting so hard against it. But then the rational, self-preservation focused part of me kicks back in with reminders.
“I’m not yours,” my voice is soft in the hopes it will soften the blow of my words.
Even though Crosby has been at my side to help me while recovering, he’s never pushed me to talk about the night we spent together or the chemistry we share. I’ve been grateful for the reprieve, even though it’s done nothing to lessen the tension that arcs between us.
His large hand cups my cheek as his eyes go soft and fill with understanding. There’s something so strong and sure about the man in front of me. I could fall.
I desperately want to fall.
“We both know that’s not true,” Crosby’s voice is a coaxing lull and as much as I want to force my feet to move even farther away from him, I don’t move. “You’ve been mine since the moment I saw you, Firefly. You started to push me away out of fear and then I gave you the space you needed to recover,” his words are little truths that hit against the flimsy wall I’ve built around my heart.
“But now I’m basically recovered,” I whisper the words, more hope than I want to recognize filling each one.
He nods slowly, a smile lighting up his face. I know I’m the only one to get this side of him—when he relaxes, when he’s softer, when he’s showing me that I’m his priority.
Apostle is full of strength and stoic loyalty; it’s sexy as hell and he makes my body light up in a way it never has before. But I also get Crosby, the man encased in a leather cut and who has memories of growing up in a small town without the mantle of being an enforcer for the DSMC.
Yeah, we’ve shared more than I’m willing to recognize during my months of recovery. How the hell did he manage that? I thought my walls were layers of concrete blocks. Now, I’m finding it was made out of wet cardboard the entire time.
Damn him.
“But now you’re basically recovered,” he repeats my words with an edge of finality. “I wasn’t going to put your recovery in jeopardy. You’re too important.” He swallows hard and his eyes become haunted. “Seeing you on the ground,” he shakes his head, his voice shaky, “I’ve never been more scared in my life.”
Without even thinking about it, his strong jaw is in my hands and I’m staring into his eyes, so he can see the truth in my words, “I’m okay now.”
The way he closes his eyes as pain contorts his face has tears welling up in my eyes. I can feel the terror he felt in that moment like it’s a physical thing in the room with us.
But the thing is, I don’t want to live in that moment. I can’t. I need to move forward.
And he does too.
When his eyes open, they’re glassy with unshed tears and my heart skips a damn beat. “You’re more than okay,” he murmurs. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”
Fuck.
“Many times.” Because he has. He’s been a better cheerleader than I deserve, especially with the way I tried to put distance between us after the night we spent together. “You’ve kept me going, Crosby. Thank you.”
