Page 56 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
“Being waited on hand and foot by a woman in lingerie? Of course, he can.”
His eyes sparkle. “I mean watching you fuss over me.”
“Hm.”
“But the corset and thong are a nice touch.” He snaps my underwear.
I glare at him, which turns his grin into something disarming.
He must sense my frustration because he drops a hand on the counter, leans close to my ear, and whispers... nothing.
He simply holds there for a few seconds and then inhales deeply through his nose. I think he intended to say something witty. To keep the banter going. But he can’t control his reaction to me either. His body hardens everywhere. The air thickens with tension.
“I never believed in God...” he rasps deeply, “until he put you in my world.” His voice surrounds me, burning through every cell in my body. “And now that he brought me back to you, I believe in miracles.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Because I have a job to do. A relic to find.”
The roar of his silence stabs me between the ribs. And then I hear his two sharp intakes of breath. The heat leaves my face. I open my eyes, and he’s wiping his jaw with a towel, looking at me with pain in his eyes.
This time it hits me hard. That pain isn’t from his injuries. It’s from me. He just said all those wonderful things, and I... Good God, this isZeke. The guy who was always there for me, who wants to be that person again.
As he pats his face, my gaze sweeps down his bruised and tattooed body.
“You’re too skinny,” I mumble, poking his pecs. I thought he was more muscular, but on closer inspection, I think it was more of an illusion his clothes created. Or my wishful thinking. He’s definitely toned, but I feel like that illness has left scars we can’t see. “Remind me to get some proper food into you when we return to the abbey.”
His brows draw together, and some of that hurt leaves his eyes. I know I will regret this, but seeing that pain dissipate is addicting. I reach into my makeup bag and pull out a vial of ointment. He watches me curiously as I dab some onto my finger and then apply it to his freshly inked tattoos.
I start at the back, circle gently over the raised welts, then trace my finger around to his front.
“What’s this one do?” I ask, finding an interesting sigil.
“Protection spell.” Goosebumps ripple across his flesh, and his breathing becomes ragged. “Paint it on doors to stop demons entering.”
“Does it work on your body too?” I circle the sigil again. “Didn’t Wes use blood to activate some of his spells?”
“I put it there so I don’t forget.” His eyes crinkle. “Not as smart as Wes.”
“What about this one?” I slide my finger to another series of interconnected black lines over the ridges of his abdomen.
He sucks in a breath and holds it. “Transfers the blessing from a sanctified object to another.”
The bulge beneath his towel grows. But he doesn’t move. He’s a rock of fortitude as I explore every hot, velvety surface I can get my finger on. I’m not even using the ointment anymore. It’s just the tip of my finger tracing around his torso, pretending to study the tattoos, but I’m really remembering, and relearning parts of him I’d forgotten existed.
There’s a small little birthmark just above his nipple. I teased him about it when we went to the local water park. It’s in the shape of a love heart. As I repeat my circle around it, I glance up.
He watches me with hooded eyes. A strand of wet hair has fallen from his forehead and drips onto his cheek. But he’s not interested in the water running down his jaw. He steps back and drops his gaze to the juncture between my thighs.
“My turn to touch you.”
Twenty-Four
Leila
His eyes haven’t left my panties. Humor flees his expression as he realizes something I’ve known for a while. I’m wet. Soaked. The red lace is dark and saturated at the core.
