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How many had he already caught?
Guilt crushed my bruised chest as Peter’s and Ily’s voices braided together in my head, repeating that damn sentence.
“I see what you are now. You did come for us. You’re going to free us. I know it—”
Slamming my laptop closed, I swung my legs off the lounger and tossed the computer beside me.
Raking both hands through my hair, my eyes trailed to Ily where she exercised a few metres away. Carefully, slowly, hurt and healing, she flowed through a sequence of poses that had stupid names like bird of paradise, eagle, cat-cow, and tree.
She said it helped her pain and kept her muscles from seizing.
I said it was pure fucking torture.
Watching her contort into all manner of delicious positions?
Christ, it was unbearable.
Time slipped through my fingers as I became utterly entranced by her.
The way the sun glinted off her impossibly dark hair.
The way her body was strong enough—even after everything she’d endured—to plank and push-up, lunge and balance on one leg. I’d often wondered where she’d gotten her strength from.
Now I knew.
On her last sun salutation, she placed her hands into a prayer and bowed her chin.
I expected her to drop to the grass and slip into a meditation like she usually did, but she took a deep breath and lowered her arms.
Her eyes flashed to mine.
She froze.
I froze.
All that electrifying awareness that never stopped crackling between us increased to a thousand volts.
I grew hard as I pictured kissing her.
I trembled at the thought of going too far.
My heart squeezed in literal pain.
I.L.Y.
I love you—
Don’t.
The sooner I forgot what her name meant, the better.
“You’re still in there. I know you are. You’re still good—”
I swallowed a moan.
She asked me to play along with her.
She believed everything I’d done up till now was an act.
