Page 62 of Tattered Edges

“Yeah,” he replied, speaking through a smile.

As if his face was terribly fragile, I gently reached for his cheeks, and delicately traced my thumbs across his lips.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this look on you before. You hardly ever smile,” I whispered. “Now I know why.”

I fought a laugh as his smile vanished, replaced by his signature scowl—only this scowl was tempered by the sated look in his eyes.

“Do you? And why is that?”

“Because when you do, you’re irresistible.”

His brow relaxed as he replied, “If that’s true, then I suppose it’s something we have in common.”

My smile was unavoidable.

He took one look at it, and then he proved his point and kissed it gone.

Iwokewithastart, almost positive I’d slept longer than I meant to, and then I remembered.

His sensual kiss.

His predatory hands.

His hard, sculpted body, and all the marvelous ways he used it.

Sex with Rory had been everything I hoped it would be, and then some.

I also knew for a fact he wasn’t a one-hit-wonder.

After our first round, and an epic naked make-out session by the fire, he’d suggested we get some sleep. It was late, so I agreed, and he dealt with the fire while I wrapped our blanket around myself and carried our untouched drinks to the kitchen. When he was finished, he gathered our clothes and headed straight for me, taking me by the hand as he led me down the hall and into his bedroom.

We weren’t under the sheets two seconds before we were reaching for each other again. What might have started as a goodnight kiss morphed into something else entirely, and we both came again before finally drifting to sleep.

My ginger knew what he was doing, and my sore body was proof.

Except—was he?

Was hemyginger?

Glancing over my bare shoulder, I saw I was in bed alone. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, which only served to push me deeper into my own head. I knew I needed to get up, but I flopped onto my back, stared up at the ceiling, and allowed myself a couple minutes to freak out.

We’d crossed a line in a way that couldn’t beundone.

Best case scenario was ahappily ever after—but that seemed too much to hope for, which left all the other alternatives.

There was only one onto which my under-rested, pre-coffee brain could latch.

Rory told me he thought breaking my heart was inevitable. I didn’t think that was true. I wasn’t his ex. I would never ask him to choose between me and the pub. It was a thought which had been living rent free in my head since the night he confided in me about his past.

More thanhimbreakingmyheart, I feared I might breakhis.

The night before, we dove headlong into whatever we were doing. We didn’t talk about it; didn’t weigh the consequences; didn’t think twice. Instead, we’d been impulsive, succumbing to our most primal desires. And while it had been amazing, it was also true that a little bit of the mystery was now gone.

I knew myself.

As I laid naked beneath the sheets in Rory’s bed, I had to admit I was afraid of myself, too. Afraid I’d screw it all up—that I’d be the one to get bored, to lose interest, and to ruin not just what we were becoming, but also who we’d been.Friends.

I clapped my hands over my face and sealed my eyes closed tight with a groan.

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