Page 29 of White Wings of Desire

A small lump rises to my throat, and I have to swallow at the sight of his green eyes peering down at me. His eyes shoot to my mouth when my tongue slips out to moisten my suddenly dry lips. He cups my chin in his hand and pulls me to my tiptoes, then tilts his head down, and his soft lips capture mine in a kiss. I close my eyes and push myself up higher, chasing his mouth.

He smiles against my lips and breaks the kiss, setting me free, and walks around the island to get himself a new cup. My heart is pounding in my chest as heat spreads across my face. I hop on one of the bar stools and watch as he pours himself another coffee.

"What do you want for dinner, Dove?" he asks. "I have some pre-cooked meals from my housekeeper in the fridge, but we can always order takeout if you like."

"Takeout, please." As tempting as the pre-cooked food sounds, because it will be ready a lot faster, what I really want is something that will give me some comfort, something that will make this situation seem somewhat normal.

"Okay, so what are we having?" He pulls his phone out of his pants pocket.

"I want cheese fries," I say and pause, waiting for some form of reaction, but his focus remains on the screen. "Nuggets, and most importantly, I want extra–"

"Pickles." He completes my sentence and looks up from his phone with a small grin.

"Is there anything I like that you don't know about yet?" I ask, and take his phone when he offers it to me. The screen shows the app from my favorite fast food joint.

"There's a lot I already know, but I'm sure there's a lot I can still learn." He shrugs and leans against the counter, sipping his coffee while he waits for me to choose my food.

"This is ridiculous," I say, mumbling more to myself. After choosing my food, I hand him his phone back, even though I really want to do some snooping. I accidentally pulled down the notification center and saw text messages from someone named Kyle, who wrote that he owed him a drink for taking him on such a stupid job. Perhaps another hitman? I'm really curious to know who this person is. But it is too early to ask these questions.

I watch as he brings his phone up to his face, a little closer than most people would consider normal.

"If you have trouble reading, why don't you put on your glasses?"

He looks up from the device, confusion written all over his face in the form of a frown. "What glasses?"

"I saw your contact lenses in the bathroom. Don't you have a pair?"

"Oh, that's what you mean. I don't own any, I just use lenses," he says and turns his attention back to his phone, I assume scrolling through the menu to find something to eat.

"Not even for emergencies?"

"No, they're just an inconvenience to me. I put the lenses on in the morning and throw them out at night." He speaks while his focus remains on the device, his fingers moving across the screen, typing.

"And at home?"

"Don't use any, my vision isn't as bad as you'd like to believe." He chuckles and puts his phone down. He circles the island counter and walks over to where I'm sitting, holding out his hand for me to take. “Let’s go to the living room. The food will be here in forty-five minutes.”

I take his hand and jump off the barstool, feeling the cold tiles against my bare feet again. Moving closer to him until my breasts press against his stomach, I raise my free hand and cradle his chin, nudging his head from side to side, studying his features, trying to imagine how he would look with the right glasses to complement his appearance.

"What a shame. I'm sure you would look good with glasses," I say and smile at his reaction, his eyes widening with surprise.

Chapter 26

Evelyn

I lift my head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s three in the morning, and I’m having trouble falling asleep. No matter how comfortable his bed is and how pleasant his warm skin feels pressed against mine. The all-too-familiar sharp pain throbbing in my lower abdomen makes it next to impossible. I try to ignore it, hoping it will go away. But it won't. Pulling my legs closer to my stomach, I curl up into a fetal position. Noah is fast asleep right next to me, his arms wrapped around my waist, cradling me against his broad chest. His warm breath tickles the skin of my shoulder. With another sharp pain that feels like a stab, I whine and press my hand to my abdomen.

"Noah, wake up," I say in a whisper, elbowing his stomach gently to wake him, but he doesn't stir. Turning my head, I look back at him sleeping behind me. One thing I noticed in the first few nights with him is that he is a heavy sleeper and not very sensitive to sounds. In an awkward attempt to free myself, I wiggle in his arms, but it only causes his hold on me to tighten.

"Let me go, please," I plead and elbow him much harder this time.

"No." His voice rattles from sleep, the vibration from his chest rippling through me in waves.

"I need to pee." I struggle against his hold.

"Just do it here. I don't like you leaving the bed," He complains.

"You're disgusting. Let me go," I say, raising my voice, and he finally lets go of me, rolls onto his back, and lets me climb out of bed.

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