Page 131 of Daddy Sees Snakes

My eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, the full curve of his lips, the dark sweep of his lashes against his cheeks.

Even after everything we did last night, I still can't quite believe I'm here, in Vincent Beckett's bed yet again.

Viper—the man who's been haunting my dreams for weeks.

My best friend's father.

A convicted felon with danger written into every line of his body.

What the hell am I doing?

I push the thought away, not ready to deal with the tangled mess of emotions roiling inside me.

Instead, I focus on memorizing every detail of this moment.

The steady rise and fall of Viper's chest.

The faint scent of his cologne lingering on the pillow.

The play of early morning light across the planes of his face.

My fingers itch to trace the bold black lines inked into his skin, to map the contours of his body.

But I don't want to wake him.

Not yet.

So I content myself with looking, savoring this rare, unguarded version of him.

And I'm starting to realize I want all of him, complicated history and all.

Viper stirs slightly, a small furrow appearing between his brows.

I hold my breath, but he doesn't wake.

His breathing evens out again, deep and rhythmic.

I wonder what he's dreaming about.

What ghosts haunt his sleep after fifteen years behind bars?

Does he relive the moment that changed everything, the arrest that tore him away from his little girl?

Or has time softened those edges, letting him find moments of peace even in unconsciousness?

The urge to touch him grows stronger.

I want to smooth away that tiny frown, to chase away whatever shadows are flickering behind his closed eyelids.

But I resist, not wanting to break this spell just yet.

Instead, I let my mind wander back to last night.

The heat of Viper's hands on my skin.

The intensity in his dark eyes as he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

The way he said my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

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