Page 216 of Tell Me Something True

Refusing to so much as glance Reed’s way—despite the way she felt him watching her—knowing if she accidentally met his eyes, the light blush suffusing her cheeks would turn nuclear and possibly engulf her in flames, she crossed to the bed.

“Down,” she whispered, giving the dogs a shooing motion.

Titus, being the good boy Reed claimed, hopped off.

Bella didn’t even lift her head.

“Bella,” Verity grit out from between clenched teeth, not worried about Urban hearing this particular conversation as it was one she had with her dog nightly. “Get. Off.”

Bella lifted her head far enough to turn her face away from Verity.

To be fair, this was usually the point where Verity gave up and slept on whatever space Bella allowed—her dog liked to stretch out, and she especially liked to stretch out next to, or on top of, Verity.

Before Verity was forced to physically drag Bella off the bed, Reed faced her dog and snapped his fingers.

Bella not only lifted her head—immediately—but when he pointed to the floor, she scrambled off the bed and sat at his feet so he could pat her head while she looked up at him adoringly.

Guess female dogs didn’t quite get that whole solidarity in sisterhood thing.

Or understand why it’s so dangerous to do something just because a boy tells you to.

Especially a boy as good looking and broken as Reed.

Hoping he didn’t notice how unsteady her hand was, she turned off the lamp. The soft glow of the moonlight through the window kept them from being plunged into complete darkness. More like everything was softer. Muted.

Shades of gray when she much preferred things to be black or white.

Wrong or right.

But maybe this was one of those times when you had to do the wrong thing for the right reason.

Surely her brothers would understand that.

With that hopeful thought firmly in mind, she climbed into bed.

Covers clutched to her chest like a trembling virgin—which made sense as she was literally both those things—she stared up at her ceiling. Spent the next few moments not breathing, her palms sweating, every muscle in her body tense, waiting for Reed to make the next move.

It was only fair. She’d made the first one.

Again.

He could decide what happened next.

There was a soft thud, followed by another which she figured was him toeing off his shoes. Another minute passed. Then two. Reluctance and indecision rolled off him in waves. Whatever internal battle waged inside of him was unable to be contained. It poked at her nerve endings. Prodded her conscience.

Soothed her worries.

She wasn’t the only one who was afraid.

Rolling onto her side facing him, she pressed her fingertips to the middle of his back. He stiffened, but she heard the slight catch of his breath. Felt his shiver as she trailed her fingers up the soft cotton of the shirt over the hard bumps of his spine. Reaching the collar, she withstood the temptation to discover how soft his skin was at the nape of his neck and instead, skimmed her hand over to his shoulder. Slid it down the rounded curve of his bicep, imagining how her fingers looked against his dark tattoos. Wishing she could trace the swooping lines. That she could ask why he chose a Celtic tribal tat and what the rose on his other arm represented.

But she’d spent too much of her summer wishing for things with this boy that were never going to come true.

Plus, she didn’t want to admit that the only reason she knew his full sleeve was Celtic was because she’d spent hours looking at tattoos on the internet.

She continued sliding her hand down past his elbow. Curling her fingers around his forearm, she gave it a gentle tug.

He made a soft sound, not quite a groan but more than a sigh.

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