Page 66 of Moonlit Thorns

“I’ll do it.” He shifts his legs to the side and gets out of bed wearing only a pair of relaxed gray lounge pants.

I climb in and go to the far side of the mattress, sitting up and watching as he walks across the expansive room. I try not to focus on the way the muscles in his back bunch and flex with every stride. Now is not the time to be getting turned on.

When he clicks the light off, I ease down in the bed, pull the sheet up over myself, and turn on my side so that I’m facing away from him. I know he wants the comfort of someone sharing his bed after whatever trauma he just relived, but I want him to know I’m not going to read anything into his request or try to take advantage of his situation.

The mattress dips behind me. Though I’m not facing him, and it’s nearly pitch black in this room, I somehow feel him. As though my body is acutely aware of his presence and every atom in my body is straining toward his. I close my eyes and try to relax enough to fall asleep again, but it feels impossible knowing he’s so near and yet not near enough.

It’s not until a few minutes later when the bed shifts, and Asher’s hand slides around my waist, hauling me back into his chest, that I’m finally able to drift off.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

ANABELLE

Iwake up, daylight filtering in through my closed eyelids, and I blink awake. It takes me a moment to remember where I am and exactly whose chest I’m sprawled across.

Asher’s.

I recall the music, the nightmare, and the way he held me as though he was afraid I would disappear as I drifted off to sleep.

When I move to roll off him, his hand—I just realize now—is on my ass, preventing me from doing so.

“I’m sorry, I must have draped myself all over you when I was sleeping.”

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest against my ear. “You say that as if I would complain.”

“Won’t you?” I tilt my face to look at him. He drops his hand off my butt and gives me room to move, so I roll over onto my back.

“No complaints.” He rolls to his side and looks at me with his head propped on his hand.

Asher Voss in the morning is a sight to behold. His hair is disheveled and the wavy strands hang down on the sides and over his forehead. There’s no trace of the tortured man who lay in this bed last night.

“How are you this morning?” Does he even remember having the nightmare?

The sparkle in his blue eyes dims. “Fine. Thanks again for waking me up.”

I nod. “Of course. I wasn’t sure if I should or not.”

“You did the right thing. What were you doing down at this end of the wing? Was I so loud that I woke you up in your room?” His eyes fill with concern.

“No, I didn’t hear you until I was outside your door. I…” Do I tell him about the music? This is the second time it’s happened, and I have no explanation for either time.

“You what?” He frowns and brushes a stray section of my hair away from my face.

“I heard this music. It was the same music that drew me to the library the first time you found me there…”

“What kind of music?” All right. At least he doesn’t seem to think I’m crazy.

“Opera maybe? It’s hard to say really. I thought maybe you were listening to it.”

He shakes his head against his hand. “Nope. I don’t know what that was.”

Asher doesn’t seem particularly concerned about it. I wonder whether he’s seen his fair share of strange things around Midnight Manor over the years.

“You’re really okay?”

He looks okay right now, but when I think back to last night… god, he seemed so gutted. How can he so quickly brush it off?

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