Page 46 of Whisked Away
“Actually,” I say, hating myself a little, “maybe we should get you back to the B&B before too many people are up and about.”
Her expression falls for just a moment before she covers it with a smirk. “Ashamed to be seen with me, Chief?”
“Never.” The word comes out fiercer than I intended, because it’s true. If anything, I’m not worthy of being seen with her. “It’s just...”
“A small town where people talk?” She finishes for me, her tone knowing. “And certain people might not approve?”
I run a hand through my hair, probably making it even messier than sleep left it. “Something like that.”
She thinks this is just about small-town gossip, about people talking over their morning pastries at the Whisk. But all I can think about is Dean, how he’d blow a gasket if he found out about this—no matter how carefully I’d kept my magic in check last night, no matter that the full moon hadn’t affectedme at all around her. Some things he’d never understand, and Alex Sinclair in my bed is definitely one of them.
She studies me for a long moment, and I have to fight the urge to look away. Sometimes her gaze is so sharp, so perceptive, I worry she’ll see right through me. See the magic thrumming beneath my skin, the darkness lurking in my bones.
Finally, she rises from the bed and walks over to where I’d left a button-down draped over the back of a chair. My breath catches as she slips it on—the hem falling to mid-thigh. Somehow seeing her in my clothes is more intimate than seeing her wearing nothing at all.
She pads over and rises on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips. “Do I have time to finish my coffee?”
“Of course.” I glance toward the window, where the sky is still deep indigo, the first hints of dawn barely creeping over the horizon. Magnolia Cove is still asleep—for now.
“Alright, Mr. Hart. But you owe me breakfast another time.”
The promise in her words makes my chest ache. Because there shouldn’t be another time. I shouldn’t even be allowing this time. But as she slips her hand into mine, warm and sure, I can’t bring myself to tell her that.
“You’re cute when you’re worried,” she whispers against my mouth.
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “And you’re beautiful when you’re asleep.”
“I am?” Her voice is soft, almost shy—so different from her usual confident tone. Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, and I wonder if she can feel my heart thundering beneath them.
“You are.” I brush hair back from her face, letting my thumb graze her cheek. “The way the moonlight plays across your skin. How peaceful you look.” I pause, realizing how that must sound. “I’m sorry. That’s creepy, isn’t it?”
But Alex just smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “No, it’s sweet. Though I’m surprised you could see me at all, given how thoroughly I stole all your blankets.”
“I noticed that too.” A laugh spills from me as I remember how I’d found her completely cocooned in my quilt. “I didn’t take you for a blanket thief.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Her tone is teasing, but something in her eyes makes my breath catch. Because I want to know everything about her—every habit, every quirk, every dream she’s ever had. But I can’t reciprocate that openness. Can’t let her truly know me.
The realization sits like lead in my stomach. Here she is, vulnerable and trusting in my arms, while I hide the most fundamental truths about myself.
We dress quickly, hands brushing, fingers lingering—stealing every touch we can in the quiet between us. A whispered laugh, the accidental graze of her lips against my shoulder, the warmth of her palm on my back.
And then, too soon, it’s time to go. I pour her a to-go cup of coffee, pressing it into her hands like it’s the only thing I can give her.
“Wait,” I say as she reaches for the door handle. “Let me check first.”
Alex raises an eyebrow as I peer through the front window like a teenager sneaking out past curfew. “You realize I’ve been staying at a B&B in town for weeks? People have seen me before.”
“Yes, but...” Not like this. Not with morning-mussed hair and wrinkled clothing, practically glowing from a night of... I clear my throat. “Just humor me?”
Her laugh is soft and fond. “Whatever you say, Chief.”
The coast looks clear. Dean’s cottage shows no signs of life, though that doesn’t mean much. The man moves like ashadow when he wants. I guide Alex onto the porch, wincing at every creak of the old boards beneath our feet.
We make it down the steps and halfway up the beach path before I relax. Maybe we’ll actually pull this off?—
“Well, well, well!”
