Page 115 of Elven Lies

“Actually, that’s pretty much been taken care of by everyone else.” After taking a slow step forward, she stopped herself again. “Plus, I couldn’t come up with a good reason to make you wait.”

Maxwell snorted, then immediately cringed when at the pain it caused. “Well, I appreciate you taking the time anyway. After…everything else.”

He coughed, winced, and tried to cover it up by shifting his position on the bed.

Finally, Rebecca couldn’t fight the urge to go to him any longer, smiling softly because she didn’t want to worry him by looking worriedforhim.

And honestly, she was too relieved to see him up and conscious and so clearly lucidnotto smile.

As she approached the bedside, that same tingling flare of attraction and need and rightness only intensified, just like she knew it would, until she was sure another hot flush had risen in her cheeks. This time, though, she didn’t care whether he saw it.

“You really had me worried there for a minute, Maxie.”

As soon as she said it, she kicked herself for slipping into using the nickname she knew he hated. She hadn’t intended to drive him nuts with it the way she had every other time she’d called him something other than his name on purpose.

But to her surprise, he responded with a smile, as if he suddenly found her nicknames both endearing and amusing.

Not a bad sign, all things considered.

“Well, I hope you can believe me when I say the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. Even through worry.”

She stopped beside the bed, overwhelmed by the ferocity of that tingling heat overwhelming her now that she was so close to him again. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, but then she finally whispered, “I believe you.”

Maxwell closed his eyes with a long, heavy sigh through his nose—either in a lot more pain than he let on or in overwhelming relief.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. If he was still in a lot of pain, decent conversation or small talk might serve as a welcome distraction.

Except she’d asked a question directly related to his comfort levels instead.

That was stupid.

Maxwell sighed again and opened his eyes, their silver glow brighter than before. His gaze settled instantly on her face again. “I certainly feel alive. Thanks to you.”

The way he looked at her filled her with the overwhelming urge to leap at him, throw her arms around his neck, and confess to how many of her waking hours in the last two days she’d spent willing him toward a full recovery.

What a stupid thing to do. She was thousands of years old and Roth-Da’al of Shade, not some giddily blushing child.

The distinction, however, did nothing for the strengthening flare of heat and electrifying energy surging through her in a renewed wave when she leaned toward the bed by only a fraction of an inch.

His gaze lingered on her face with unwavering persistence, as if she were the only thing that existed in his world.

At the moment, she could have said the same of him.

“I never properly thanked you for what you did,” he said, his voice lowering toward a dark, husky growl laced with unbelievable tenderness beneath it all. “You saved my life.”

“You know, I think you did already thank me right afterwards,” she said. “Do you remember what you told me?”

Part of her didn’t want him to remember. From a professional standpoint, and after all the pains she’d taken for so long not to let herself get close to anyone, Maxwell’s final declaration at the warehouse before he’d lost consciousness was highly embarrassing for both of them.

On a personal level, though, she desperately wanted it to be real. For him to remember what he’d told her, because how could anyone forget a promise that significant?

Maxwell studied her a moment longer, letting her linger in suspended anticipation that only made her heart beat that much faster in her chest and her pulse rush that much louder in her ears.

“I remember,” he finally murmured. “And I meant every word.”

She didn’t know how to feel about that. Too many emotions crashed around inside her to immediately separate the ones she wanted to keep from those she could have done without.

He remembered that vow—the life debt he’d declared he owed her. Now it felt real.

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