Page 33 of Sterling Clay

“Don’t be nice to us.”

The words are like a blow to my chest. A straight up roundhouse kick with a hi-yah to the sternum.

“Why not?” My brows cinch, hard and deep.

“Because he can’t get attached. I won’t let him be hurt again.” Her eyes flit between mine and the kitchen, then back, cautious, almost frightened. Vulnerable.

“I’m not going to hurt him. It’s ice cream,” I repeat. My hand grasping the robe knot tightens in the soft material and I gently jiggle her once again.

“Don’t hurt me either,” she whispers, dipping her lids.

“Mavis,” I groan, slipping my hand to her hip, causing our upper bodies to draw closer to each other. “How could I hurt you?”

Her eyes leap up to mine once more. “By being kind. Then stripping that kindness away from us.”

Wesley. Fucking false promises. Masked compassion.

“I’m not him.” I struggle to keep any irritation from my voice. I don’t want to be compared to that asshole. She doesn’t know me. Not enough to understand I’d never be like him. I would never offer compassion then tug it away.

“You haven’t told me whether you’ll stay or not. But I want to be clear that my offer stands. I want you here. I want you and Dutton to stay as long as you need.”

Mavis closes her eyes and leans forward just the slightest bit. The couch is a barrier between us, but I sense her wanting to lean into me.

I didn’t miss the way she clung to me earlier, when I surprised her with a hug in the parking lot. Her holding me tight in response to my embrace did something to me. This wasn’t damsel in distress syndrome. She was turning the tide on me. Doing something to me I couldn’t explain yet.

Presently, I risk running my hand around her lower back, pinning her in place. The warmth from her bath seeps through the threadbare material of her robe. Or maybe that’s just how she naturally feels, and I want to further investigate that heat. I want to feel her skin.

And I want to reassure her she’s safe with me. “We might not know one another well, but I promise you I won’t intentionally hurt you. Or Dutton. I realize that a promise might not be something you can take from me. You don’t trust them. But I’m asking you to trust me. Have faith in me, at least.”

She slowly nods, her eyes still closed, her head bowed.

“Look at me, butterfly.”

Her lids flit open. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

I glance between us, my sight catching on the hint of cleavage easier to see from this vantage point. Definitely naked beneath the robe.

“Earlier, I mentioned a phoenix, but you’re softer than that mythical bird. Butterflies mean transformation, too. And a change is coming for you, Mavis.”

Dutton claimed he’d been taught to hide. Maybe Mavis has been hiding, too. Buried inside a cocoon of sorts. “You’re free now. Free of Wesley. Free to be you. Whoever that might be.”

Because I was certain Mavis didn’t know herself, didn’t fully recognize her strength. Not yet.

And for some unknown reason, I wanted to be beside her as the discovery happened. As she unfolded from the cocoon around her heart, a chrysalis liberated herself from slumber, to emerge stronger and more stunningly beautiful, if that was even possible. And simply be Mavis.

Tears well in her eyes and she rapidly blinks them away, touching her finger to the corner of one eye to capture the drop before it escapes. “You’re too sweet, Clay Sylver.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.” I wink at her, and she chuckles, giving in to the pull between us and resting her forehead against mine.

I breathe her in again. Floral. Fresh. One day mine? I don’t dare to dream. Not when she had to be hers first before she could give herself to me.

“Are we eating ice cream or what?” Dutton calls from the kitchen.

I’d like to answer or what. Want to take this woman to my room, remove this ratty robe, and show her how precious she is. How beautiful. How sexy. How liberated she could be.

Instead, I pull back and yell over her shoulder. “Eating ice cream.”

The pink surprise kind.