Page 12 of Taking Jenny
“He looked so lost. I thought he might need help.”
“You’re kind,” Tiger murmured. “And I think it confused the shit out of him.”
I laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be nice? Wait, is this because humans can be owned by Ladrians so it’s weird for us to be nice to one?”
“Essentially, yes.”
We walked past the bar, and another park was sandwiched between it and the next building. Citrus scent filled the air from the trees, but they didn’t look like any citrus trees I had ever seen. In fact, they reminded me of the oaks back home in South Carolina. Huge, with gnarly branches that hung low to the ground.
“We’ve been walking a while,” he said, leading me toward a bench. “Let’s have a seat here.”
“Sure.” I didn’t want to complain, but his longer legs made him so much faster than me that I was glad for the break.
We sat on a bench in the park, and there, I looked up at the sky. “Do you ever get tired of how pretty it is here?”
He chuckled softly. “I might take it for granted, to be honest. This is home.”
“Yeah, but there are two suns and two moons, and your oak trees have lemons on them. I mean, I guess if I grew up here then I might take it for granted, too, but I don’t think I could.” I smiled and looked at him. “It’s too pretty here.”
He didn’t respond right away. He just looked at me, long and intense, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth more than hearing my words. Then slowly, deliberately, he reached out and caught a strand of my hair, winding it around his fingers with a kind of reverence that made my breath catch.
“The sunslight makes your hair glow,” he murmured, his voice deep and roughened by something I couldn’t name yet, but felteverywhere.
My cheeks flamed and I ducked my head, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch between us. Every inch I wanted to close. “Back home, I’m the weirdo with streaks of blue in her hair,” I whispered. “Here…” I looked around at the passersby, some with blue hair, others with gray or black, “It’s normal. I know there’s a lot to learn in Ladrille, but to some degree, I feel oddly comfortable here.”
His gaze remained on my face. “I’ve always thought blue hair was the prettiest.”
Something fluttered inside of me. I scooted a little closer to him on the bench, our knees brushing. “Me too, that’s why I’ve dyed it since I was a teenager. It makes me feel more like me. Like I should have been born with blue hair.”
His voice dropped lower. “It suits you.”
My heart thudded at the way he said the words, like it wasn’t just the hair he thought suited me. Like he was talking about all of me. The sweet words, the way his eyes lingered, the warm weight of his presence beside me, it was too much. Too good. Too real. I had to know…
I placed my hand lightly over his and murmured, “Huh.”
He tilted his head, his voice curious. “What?”
“Well…” I stared down at our hands, mine so small over his, my thumb brushing over his knuckles because I couldn’t help myself. “You’re so much bigger than me, and I wasn’t sure if your body would run hotter or colder. But you’re so much hotter.”
“Our metabolism runs faster than humans.”
I looked up at him and grinned, my thumb still tracing slow, lazy circles over his skin. “What I mean is, you’re hot.”
His lips parted, just slightly, and something flickered in his eyes. Surprise. Amusement. Hunger. He smiled, almost to himself, then looked down and away, and I couldn’t tell if he was collecting his thoughts, or his control.
But he didn’t say anything. No return compliment. No teasing reply. The silence between us was charged. Electric. So, I let my fingers linger. Pressed a little more. Let my body lean slightly toward his, enough that the warmth of him brushed against my side like a promise.
“Tiger?” I asked softly.
His head turned toward me again. “Yes?”
“Can I try something?”
He didn’t hesitate. His voice was low and a little hoarse. “Anything.”
I leaned in and slipped my fingers into his collar, tugging gently until he bent toward me. His breath hit my lips, hot and tasting faintly of lemon and sugar. My heart raced.
I slid my fingers along the side of his neck, where his pulse beat strong and steady beneath warm, taut skin. “Closer,” I whispered.
