Page 65 of Broken-Hearted

“What else?” His hand is on the pillow beside my head, and I take it, squeezing it.

“Anything.” He squeezes my hand back. “With you, I feel like I can be anything.”

“Or drool all over me? Because that was not cool, Blackshaw.” I try not to think about how much my heart contracted when he said that. Or how much I want to haul him close and kiss him because he makes me feel the same way. Like I can say anything, do anything, and he will accept me as I am.

I’m not easy.

Living with Martha taught me that. I can be impulsive, snappish, bitchy on occasion and prickly. I want to be around people until suddenly, with almost no warning at all, I just want to be alone.

I thought no one but my sister would understand me. But Nathan gets it. He getsme.

“Says the girl who left a puddle of drool on my belly.” His voice is dry. “You have an unhealthy obsession with my belly button, peach.”

Fair point.

I lift his hand and press a kiss on the center of his palm. “True.”

“Clara?” his expression is soft, so is his voice. He’s not calling me Clara to keep me at a distance like he did after I pushed him away. He’s saying it with all the sweetness and softness in the world. Like he wants me to hear how much I mean to him.

He must know, or at least strongly suspect, I’m at the telling him I like him stage, but anything more than that and I have no qualms about shoving him off the edge of the bed and bolting.

Commitment…

Staying in one place for too long…

That’s not me.

Not yet.

Since the motel room when I lashed out at him for wanting to talk about me being an omega, he hasn’t pushed me to stay or open up about stuff I’m not ready to yet.

Dayne asked me to stay, but I don’t think Nathan knew he was going to.

“I like your pack,” I tell him.

“They like you.” He grins at me. “We’re bursting at the seams in the house, but I don’t think any of us would have it any other way.”

“Dayne was talking about needing to build new cabins or extend the house.”

He nods. “Yeah, he’s mentioned it before. Talis’s cabin was so problematic that I think he’s delaying the inevitable. He barely slept then. Extending the house would be a much bigger, and potentially more troublesome, project.”

I think Dayne Blackshaw loves his pack enough to swallow his dislike of building cabins. “He’ll do it.”

“I know.” He gives me a searching look. “Was that all you were talking about?”

I whistle between my teeth. “Impressive, Blackshaw. I’d have tackled you the second you stepped foot in the kitchen, demanding to know everything. You have more patience than I ever have.”

He kisses me. “I’d hoped you would tell me if there was something you needed me to know.”

And I did tell him. No prompting necessary.

“We might have talked about something else,” I tease.

“Yeah?”

“But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“Okay, peach. When you are I’m ready to listen.”

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