Page 60 of Gone Hunting

My hand found her lower back as hers curved around the top of my shoulder. Our fingers linked, our gazes met, and we danced, her head falling against my chest and my arms encircling her into the next song and the one after that.

I walked her back to my room and said goodnight. This time when she closed the door, she didn’t press furniture against it. She didn’t even lock it.

It made it easy to do what we did next.

Rays of light beat against my closed eyelids, demanding I wake, instead of scrunching my face and turning away from the day. My bare chest slides against Celia’s back.

Celia?

Whoa. I did it again.

I blink my eyes open, my nose twitching when her long hair tickles the tip. My arms are wrapped around her waist and my body is curled securely against hers. She’s not pulling away or trying to hide. Instead, her arms rest over mine, keeping me close.

I’m not sure this is right, and I can’t for the life of me remember how I got here. My conscience tells me I should slip away. I don’t want her to feel scared, or to think I crawled into bed with her on purpose.

Slowly, I inch my arms away from hers, trying to be quiet and not rouse her from sleep. But when she purrs, I stop moving altogether, unable to stop my smile or the chuckle that follows.

“You’re awake,” she says.

Celia doesn’t sound sleepy. She sounds content, her husky voice stirring my senses.

“And you’re purring,” I say, laughing when she does it again. “I thought big cats couldn’t purr.”

“They can’t,” she squeaks, embarrassed. “I told you, I’m weird.”

My smile vanishes.No, you’re perfect.

I adjust my hold, trying to keep it loose so she can scoot away if she’d like. I hope she doesn’t. Her warmth and softness, they’re heaven.

I press my forehead against the back of her head to remind her I’m here and how close our bodies are. It sounds like a stupid thing to do, but this is the first time she doesn’t feel nervous having me so near.

Well, maybe not the first time. Last night, when we danced, that was pretty awesome.

Celia’s presence is reassuring. I’m comfortable around her and want her to feel the same way. But I can’t make her, nor do I want her to do anything she’s not ready for.

“You wandered into my bed again,” she says.

“No,” I say. “I wandered intomybed.”

“Okay. You wandered back intoyourbed with me in it and . . . fell asleep?”

“That sounds about right,” I agree.

“You don’t remember?” she asks.

“No. Do you?”

Her soft hair brushes against my cheek when she shakes her head. “I only remember waking up with you against me.”

In a way, I wish we could remember. In other ways, this seems better. Innocent, I suppose, making our actions pure and not something we’ll regret.

“Was it okay?” I ask. “Me being next to you like this?”

Her voice quiets. “It was the best thing ever.”

“Ever?” I ask. I don’t think she’s crying, but I do hear the tears in her voice.

“Yes,” she whispers.

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