Page 7 of Messy AF
Which, of course, was his job.
It didn’t mean anything, and it damn sure didn’t make me special.
“Good,” Warren said, his tone full of praise as he reached out to lightly cuff the side of my head. “Now, are you hungry?”
I kept my smile firmly in place, doing my best to ignore the way his touch made my heart do backflips in my chest. “I could eat.”
“Do you want to wait here or keep me company in the kitchen?”
“I can help,” I offered.
For obvious reasons, Warren didn’t like it when I handled knives, but I could do other things. I mean, I could definitely stack a sandwich without causing an emergency.
A fleeting expression of disapproval flashed across his handsome face, there and gone so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it.
“Perfect,” he responded as he pushed up from the sofa. “Let’s do it.”
He offered a hand, helping me to my feet, and while he didn’t hover, he stayed close by my side as we made our way to the kitchen. There, he guided me to the table, a square-top with a tinted glass surface, just big enough for two people.
Tucked safely into one of the padded chairs, I drummed my fingers against my thigh while I waited for him to gather ingredients from the pantry and fridge. I watched him navigate the space with increasing fascination, mesmerized by the way every movement flowed seamlessly into the next.
Lithe and graceful, he moved faster than any human, though not as quickly as I knew he could. More like watching a video clip on double speed rather than witnessing anything supernatural.
He had just finished spreading everything out on the table when I felt the recognizable tingle at the top of my spine. My vision blurred, dimming at the edges, and my head started to buzz, a low hum that made my thoughts muted and hazy.
Folding my arms on top of the glass surface took far more effort than it should have, and just as I started to lower my head to rest atop them, I remembered what Warren had said. He liked being needed. He wanted me to ask for help.
I didn’t have to go through this alone.
“Warren.”
I managed only his name, and even that sounded slurred and garbled.
Then I was falling, tumbling into the darkness.
A few seconds or a couple of hours could have passed without me knowing, but when I came to again, I found myself on the kitchen floor. Unlike the other times when I had roused alone and confused, face down on a hard surface, I awoke cradled in the protection of Warren’s arms.
Curled in his lap, my head resting on his shoulder, his icy scent filling my head, I didn’t immediately open my eyes or move. Still, the vampire knew. I couldn’t say what had given me away—a change in breathing, an increase in my heart rate—but his arms tightened around me, holding me in place.
“Don’t try to move yet.”
“Okay,” I agreed easily, perfectly content to remain right where I was. “How long was I out?”
“A few minutes.” He caressed my back in long, soothing strokes. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.” No aches or pains. No new scrapes or bruises. I couldn’t even process how fast he must have moved to prevent me from crashing to the floor. “Thanks for not letting me fall.”
His fingers slid into my hair, the tips gently massaging my scalp. “Thank you for trusting me to catch you.”
He tilted his head, his cheek brushing my temple briefly before he pulled away again. When he exhaled, I could feel the shakiness of the breath vibrate in his chest, could hear the stutter of air that flowed from his lips.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” I offered, my face still hidden against the side of his neck.
“You didn’t scare me.”
Then why did he breathe like that? Why did his pulse flutter in his throat like a hummingbird’s wings?
Not sure I wanted to know the answer, I said nothing and curled into him, soaking up his attention for as long as I could.
