Page 29 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You are very welcome,” he murmured, then stepped away and his hand left. His warmth left.

Her body ached in protest as if she could summon him back with sheer willpower. With raw need.

“Come here,” he said, and though it was still a command, his voice came out soft and reverent.

She straightened, tucked her sweater around her thighs, and turned toward him.

His eyes were molten. A bright, hot liquid gold. “Tonight was an exception, but before a man should even get to think about that part of you, he should care about this.”

He brought his finger to the center of her chest.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself with the words that she’d known all along but needed to hear.

“Not for one second do I take for granted the trust you’ve given me, sweetheart.” His hand dropped, and she saw the change in him, how his face fell, and his tone turned gritty and dark. “But I don’t deserve it.”

She wanted to argue, to deny his point, but she had no good reason. She knew so little about him. Now, all she wanted was to find out more. He’d reassured her of her insecurities, and it was fair that she did the same for him. Regardless of what she did or didn’t know, one thing had become clear. She wasn’t the only one giving mixed signals.

He picked up two packs of beer and turned to the door, but she had to know one thing before they went back.

“Did you ever find what you were looking for?”

His shoulders rose as he inhaled, then they slumped. “Yeah, I did find something.” He paused. “But I still look up at night and find myself alone with the stars.”

FOURTEEN

Last night he’d made it through one round of Caspian’s shitty version of The Game of Life before calling it quits.

The only thing more fucked up than hitting every event space and getting more drunk than he planned was remembering how fucked up his real life had become. A steady ache grew in his chest from stealing glances at his sweet witch and knowing that even though she cared, even though she’d felt like perfection under the palm of his hand—Ivory wasn’t truly his.

Moreover, she’d told him she didn’t want to be. Not like that.

Her dark desires may align perfectly with his, but a lot more mattered in a relationship than sexual compatibility. Too many men—pathetic wastes of particles like Jace—would use her regardless of whether she gave mixed signals. He needed her intentions to be crystal clear. So that was that.

Unfortunately for him, Ivory had loosened up more and more with a few cocktails, and by the morning, her musical laugh still echoed in his ears. Her smile still blinded him when he closed his eyes.

Sunlight poured through the window in his bedroom, and he covered his face, preferring the memory of her to the reality of today. He’d almost asked what she would’ve done in his position. What path would someone with such a kind heart choose if they knew what he did, if they saw what he’d lived through?

Would she choose to face her father’s killer? Would she want revenge? Would it eat at her the same way it did him?

But it’d be far better if she never had to endure such circumstances, never had to question if her very life was in danger. Never need to even think about it.

She didn’t need a man intent on vengeance, someone so consumed by the past it blinded him to the future.

She deserved so much better.

The way she listened, not only when he showed her the kind of respect a proper man would give her, but when he wasn’t even speaking.

He swore she could tune into his very heartbeat, hear all the little flaws and fractures that made up who he was.

She cared enough to ask, to notice what others missed.

It was going to kill him, this sheer drive to wrap her up and never let go. So first, he had to get his own shit together. After he finished tying up the loose ends and cutting off all the rotten, mildewed parts of himself, he’d rebuild.

And then, maybe then, he’d ask her again—if he was someone worthy of her feelings.

Groaning, he pulled his arm off his eyes and reached over to fumble around his bedside table for the phone, knocking off a half-empty glass of water in the process.

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