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It was just…Wreck.
He angled his face, and the fire even died from his eyes. “You said it’s okay.”
Butterflies filled her middle and she smiled so big, her eyes squinted shut. When she hung her head to hide how pleased she was that what she’d said had affected him, he hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze back to his. “You said it’s okay,” he repeated.
Timber slowly slid her hands from his chest, up his neck, to his cheeks, and cupped his face. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m okay. Wreck, hear me. Everything is okay.”
He leaned in and kissed her more gently this time, moving his mouth against hers like he already knew her lips. His fingertips were in her hair, brushing it out of her face, and she absolutely melted against his touch.
She knew it was wrong. She knew. She was a human, being touched by a powerful being she knew so very little about. He scared the shifters here, and now she was standing in his embrace begging for more.
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to survive him.
He’d admitting to losing control. He’d lost control tonight and caused so much destruction, but there was good in him. The green said he had good.
The understanding in these shifters’ eyes here said he had good.
The faith of Damon Daye said he had good.
Down to her bones, she felt he had good inside of him.
She’d never felt like this under any man’s touch. She’d never worried over a man like this. She’d never wanted to understand a man more.
His story was tragic, but he was still here.
He was haunted by the father he’d fought and won, but he was still here.
He loved his mother deeply, and had severed their physical contact just so he could make sure she was safe. From him.
He knew how to love.
A man who knew how to love had good in him.
Fire and all.
Perhaps tomorrow she would wake up and be terrified of his power, but tonight, she’d seen past the walls he’d carefully constructed around himself, and God, it was beautiful.
He leaned into her, picked her up, and wrapped her legs around himself. He carried her across the yard, up the porch stairs, and into the destroyed house.
He set her down, and looked around.
The uncertainty in his expression made her chest ache, so she told him, “We will rebuild it. We will make it even better.”
He dragged his attention from the huge hole in the roof. “I’m sorry.” He’d said it so suddenly, and with such tenderness, it took her by surprise and froze her words in her throat.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I should’ve shown up today. I bought a bottle of wine to bring you, and then I…” He shook his head. “No excuses. I didn’t show up for you, and I should’ve.”
“You should’ve,” she agreed. But she could absolutely appreciate a man who could understand the wrong he did, own it, and apologize face-to-face.
“I don’t think we can be friends,” he whispered as he grabbed her hand and lifted it against his, palm to palm. He intertwined their fingers. “We’re past it, and we can’t go back. My animal can’t go back.”
He kissed the back of her hand and then released her. He reached out his pointer finger and brushed it against the handprint burn on her arm. “I think he claimed you already. I’m sorry, Timber.”
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“It means he chose you the night of the car wreck.” He pulled her close and swayed in a dance with no music other than their pounding heartbeats.
“I try to fight it, but it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. It’s not fair to you. It’s not. I know it’s not. You don’t deserve this life. You deserve better. Steadier. Safer.” He lifted her other hand and intertwined his fingers in hers. Now he had both of her hands held, and something was growing insideof her. Hope, perhaps. Joy? A steadfast understanding that this man was important. Maybe all of that.
