Page 44 of Presley's Christmas Catch
PRESLEY
Brock holds me tightly against his chest like I’m a doll, and it means nothing to him. I’ve read about this in books. Kael does this in book three just pages before he and Lyra kiss for the first time. It’s insanely romantic on the page, reading about the way she wraps her arms around his neck as he runs them to safety. Brock may not be running with me, but I have no doubt he could.
And basically, I will never be able to just be friends with him. He probably won’t believe me that I could after today, too, because for the few minutes it takes him to carry me outside the bookstore to the sidewalk, I rest my face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.
Falling with this crowd around me was scary, but it only lasted an instant before Brock had me protectively in his arms. Any fear from that has long since fled as he marches out with people still clamoring for him to sign something for them. Even the people at the front of the line that I was pretty sure were hard-core fans are begging now.
When we get outside, Brock stands next to the door. He lets out a long breath. The biggest thing is that he doesn’t put medown. How long do I let this go before it makes things worse for our friendship? If I don’t say anything, I can enjoy the way it feels to be held protectively in his arms and relish in a few daydreams. The problem is that it might prove to him that I can’t be just his friend, and he would put a stop to us hanging out. If I keep our friendship, at least I can see him. It’s a painful decision, considering how much I want to stay in his arms, but I have to make it.
“Um, Brock?” I tilt my head back to catch his gaze.
He looks down at me, his eyes still bright with the fear that took hold when he saw me down on the ground. His eyes rake over every part of my face, cataloguing me in a way that has warmth racing through me, head to toe. My mind goes to the scene with Kael and Lyra, how when she slid from his hold, he gripped her arms, pulled her back to him and crashed his lips to hers in a desperate way after fearing that he’d lose her.
It would be so easy to put my hand to Brock’s cheek right now, guide his face toward me, kiss him again. It’s so tempting even when I know how it ends.
“Presley, are you okay?” he asks. I can almost hear that note of desperation that the audiobook narrator put in Kael’s voice when he asked the same thing before he kissed Lyra. Involuntarily, the sound makes my hands clench on his t-shirt, wanting it to be more than just a friend’s concern. Brock is so loyal. He would have protected Lincoln or Layla the same way.
Reluctantly I say, “You can put me down now.”
Pink tinges his cheeks. “Oh, right.” He slips his hand from underneath my legs, gently setting me down on the sidewalk. The air feels cool on my neck, and I hope it means I’m not blushing too much. Or that Brock can explain away the red in my cheeks to the winter day. Other people spill out of the bookstore around us, the crowd milling near the door. Brock stands wide, making sure we have plenty of space.
“Thanks for saving me,” I say, smiling up at him.
He stares at me for a long moment without answering. Hisexpression is confused, which I don’t understand. Finally he shakes his head. “Yeah. It was my fault anyway.”
Someone taps Brock’s shoulder, asking for an autograph. He holds up a finger. “In a minute.” He leans down over me, his face so close to mine I could turn and kiss him.
Why can’t I stop thinking about kissing this man?
“I need to play nice with these people,” he says quietly. “Are you really okay?” His voice sends shivers up my spine. It’s low and protective. Put some armor on this guy, and he’s my personal Sir Kael.
“I’m good. Really.” I resist gripping his arms to keep him close to me.
As he pulls away, a voice from inside, the silver-haired woman that would make an excellent Elysande, calls for everyone’s attention. She’s one of the women Brock was talking to before. Everyone outside turns toward her.
“It’s ten minutes early, but we have a much fuller house than expected,” she says, and the statement is met with cheers. “Sapphira will pass out the tickets to the first twenty-five people who arrived.” There’s a collective groan through those who won’t get them, and I let out a sad sigh myself. I don’t see how Brock took care of this. Maybe he is Brock Hunter, and that means something in the football world, but here he’s just another fan. Most of the people, besides that cool kid who loves the same TOK book I do, came to see Brock, not celebrate the release.
“I know,” the woman says, holding up her hands. “We’re so grateful for this support. So I have a surprise.” Another cheer interrupts her, and when she waves her hands for quiet, the response is immediate.
“We’re drawingoneextra name randomly from the crowd to meet with Mr. Thornridge this afternoon. Sapphira is posting a link on the Obsidian Kingdom fan page on Facebook.”
Brock and I share a knowing look. Half the bandwagon fans here will have a hard time finding it.
“Go there now and enter your name. We’ll draw in about ten minutes, so hurry please.”
Hope jumps through me. I still have a chance. I pull out my phone and look up at Brock, who’s done the same. Only about half the people around us are looking at theirs, confirming my suspicions about a big chunk of this crowd. Brock grins triumphantly.
He leans over me again. “We’ve got this in the bag,” he whispers, his eyes twinkling.
“I hope so.” I click on the link, fingers shaking as I type my name in.
He nudges me with his elbow, softly. He’s always so soft any time he touches me. Which, until that debacle inside the store happened, hadn’t been a lot today.
“Trust me,” he says.
I hit submit on the form and then turn to face Brock. “Whatwereyou talking to those two women about?”
He grins wider.
