Page 45 of Destined Mate

I slid my favorite fuchsia sweatshirt over my head, not bothering to change my shorts or put socks on. I didn’t mind getting cold, but I wasn’t wearing a bra, so I needed a thicker shirt in case wolves were running in the woods and could see me.

As quietly as possible, I grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, not wanting to bother Bodey. He’d either already be asleep or close to it. I slipped outside, keeping my footsteps quiet, then eased the door shut.

A deep chuckle came from behind me.

Gasping, I spun around as my heart lurched into my throat, only to find Bodey sitting outside on the swing with his guitar in his hands. I clutched my chest. “My gods. You scared me.”

He had the common decency to cringe. “Sorry. I was going to tell you, but you were so cute that I didn’t want to say anything.”

My cheeks flamed, but then I realizedcutewas something guys called their sisters, not people they were interested in. “I’m glad you were entertained.” I stuck out my tongue and wrapped my arms around myself as the cool breeze brushed past me.

The longer I stared at him, the warmer I got. His hair was messy, hanging in his face, and his thin white shirt hugged every inch of his body. Add in his gray sweatpants, and my mind ran wild with the outline I couldn’t help but notice. I was about to combust.

He patted the seat next to him on the swing. “Come join me.”

There were three other seats I could take, but the swing would put me close to him. My legs moved of their own accord, bringing me to sit next to him. I sat down gently so I didn’t seem overeager, and I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, needing something to hold on to. “Are you just imagining playing?”

He laughed, then shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother you. Lately, I’ve had the urge to play again, which is strange. I haven’t wanted to play for years.”

“That doesn’t seemtoostrange.” I rolled my head so I could look at his face. “Sometimes, you need to take a break to see if you truly love something. I’d say still being able to play like you do after all that time is a sign you needed to find inspiration within yourself or remove whatever block was hindering you.”

“Maybe.” He strummed a few chords, the sound easing my restlessness. “Do you mind if I play now since you’re awake?”

I smiled. “Please. I love listening to you.”And looking at you, though I wisely didn’t include that last part.

“Any requests?” He quirked a brow.

I shook my head. “Nope, performer’s choice.”

“Well, all right, then.” He adjusted his position and leaned slightly over the guitar.

Within the first few chords, I recognized the song immediately: “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” made famous by Elvis Presley.

My body smoldered as I watched his fingers pluck the chords. I was stupidly jealous of an instrument, wishing his hands were on me instead. Not wanting the scent of my arousal to grow stronger and catch his attention, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back on the swing, focusing on the chords of the song and the rough timbre of his voice crooning the lyrics.

The strange tide of desire ebbed inside me, but I didn’t open my eyes. I needed to focus on the song, the slight rocking of the chair, and the chill that blanketed me.

Bodey fidgeted, and his leg brushed mine. The simple connection had that warmth spreading through me all over again. I wasn’t sure what was happening between us or how I felt about him, but my feelings were definitely not appropriate between friends.

His arm brushed mine as he continued to play, and my eyes involuntarily opened and locked with his.

He’d been watching me, but he didn’t miss a note as he continued to play.

After the last chord dissipated in the night, he set his guitar down on the table in front of us. When he leaned back, his hand brushed my leg. My breath caught.

When our eyes connected again, my heart pounded.

He leaned toward me, his warm, rough hand cupping my face. “You feel cold.”

“I’m not.” With him this close, cold was the last thing I felt.

As he had the other day, he lowered his forehead to mine. His breath warmed my face.

“I love listening to you play,” I murmured.

He smirked, one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other. “I love watching you listen to me.”

My heart clenched, and I realized how deep in trouble I was. I’d do anything to feel him touch me like this every day and make him smile like that again.

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