Page 59 of Fire of the Fox

“Thank you for taking me,” I said, the bliss bleeding into my words as we drove back to his house. “I really enjoyed it.”

“You’re welcome. I have to admit, I liked it a bit, too. Not the painting part. I hated that, but it was interesting watching you work.”

Crimson lit my cheeks as I looked out the window. He had been watching me that much? I mean, I had watched him, but knowing he watched me that intently made the giddiness in my stomach dance wildly. He said that it was interesting. Was that a good or bad thing?

Being alone with Rune after a fun-filled evening, my insides tightened with fresh nerves. My mind drifted back to earlier in the day when we’d been in his room. The memory felt far away, almost like a dream. My cheeks grew warm when I remembered the way it felt to lay beneath him or the way it had felt when he ran his fangs across my skin and touched me in sensitive areas.

“I want to apologize.” His voice was so soft, I almost thought I’d imagined it.

I looked at him, my train of thoughts coming to a stand-still. “For what?”

“For what I did earlier. You know, in my room. That was wrong of me to mess with you like that.”

Refusing to meet his eyes, I turned back to the window. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. I feared it would spark a conversation about my feelings for him. There was no way I was going to admit how I felt, so I kept quiet and continued to watch the passing trees. I did appreciate his apology. It was only the second time he’d openly apologized after doing something he knew was wrong.

Neither of us spoke the rest of the way back to his house. Despite my better judgment, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it felt like to do normal things with him. We had laughed and made jokes while painting, and it had felt so natural. So real. To anyone there, it would’ve looked like we were an actual couple. Then, when I thought back to his words after the incident in his room, I was given a painful reminder that we weren’t actually anything. None of it was real or had any meaning.

At least not to him.

By the time we made it back to his house, it was already dark out, and the lingering rain clouds obscured the moon. We stepped out into the silent darkness, and I watched as Rune went to the back to grab our paintings.

“I want to thank you again,” I said as he handed me mine. “For taking me out this evening.”

He gave me one of his usual sarcastic grins. “Don’t get used to it. Unless you’d want to take Mr. Lancer up on his offer. I wonder if those other kinds of classes are just as interesting.”

Rolling my eyes, I glanced down at my painting. As I examined the picture through the dark, the memory of Rune’s face lighting up upon seeing it flittered by. Glancing back up at him, I realized he was looking down at the picture, too.

Smiling, I held it out. “Here. You can have this.”

He looked at me with a hint of surprise on his face. I was well aware by now that he didn’t like to show any signs of emotion other than boredom, sarcasm, or confidence, so it was nice to see him so surprised. He looked from me to the canvas. “But it’s yours.”

I shrugged. “I don’t need it. I want you to keep it. I don’t know who the fox is yet, but you know him. That means it’s a picture of someone you’re close to and the girl who saved your ass from needing to have a real girlfriend.”

He stared down at the picture with the faint trace of something warm playing at his mouth. Finally, he reached out and took it from me. The motion made a happy buzz stir in my chest as I watched the way his hungry eyes traced over the image. Maybe that fox was dearer to him than I had realized.

Rune looked down at his own painting, then back up at me. He gave me a nervous smile, something I had never seen on him before. It made him look even more charming than usual. “I would offer you mine, but I don’t think anyone would want it, especially a painter like you.”

I laughed before reaching out to take his canvas. I hugged it to my chest and said, “I’d love to take it. I think it’s one of my favorite abstract pieces.”

“Abstract,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I think even that is being a bit too kind.”

He looked at me with a glimmer of something sincere in his eyes. It was that genuine smile of his that seemed to turn my knees to rubber and heart to mush. I had only seen it in the picture of him with his brothers, so seeing him look at me that way made the lid on my feelings crack down the middle. Trying to avoid letting him see my cheeks glow red, I looked down at his painting. Despite what he thought, I really did love it.

Meeting his eyes again, I gestured over my shoulder at my car. “Well, I should probably get going since it’s getting late.”

“Wait.” He cocked his head to the side, revealing his ponytail. “You’re forgetting your hair tie.”

“Oh, right.”

I held out my hand, waiting for him to give it back, but he didn’t move. He smirked as he waited, still tilting his head. I realized he was waiting for me to take his hair down for him. Swallowing hard, I reached out with my free hand and slowly pulled the band from his hair. Our bodies were inches apart, and the close proximity paired with the intimate action made my breath hitch in my throat. I bit my lip as the tie came loose, and his heated eyes dropped to my mouth. His white hair spilled around his shoulders, and I swallowed hard as I combed my fingers through the soft strands. He shifted a little closer, his head angling down slightly toward mine. My eyes fell to his full lips of their own accord, and my hands slipped through his locks until my palm rested on his shoulder.

The air between us was suddenly thick, and it vibrated with need. All I had to do was lean closer and give in to that incessant desire. I could see in the way his eyes burned a trail along my lips, my neck, my body, that he wanted this just as much as I did.

But I was scared.

Scared of his eventual rejection.

He didn’t do relationships. He did hook ups, and as much as I wanted him, I didn’t want to be just another one-night stand. I’d want something more while he’d only be offering a physical connection.

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