Page 91 of Saddle and Scent
And he's enjoying every second of my flustered reaction.
I try to step back, to put some distance between us and my apparently malfunctioning brain, but he slides an arm around my waist before I can escape. The touch is gentle but firm, pulling me close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
Close enough that his scent wraps around me like a blanket.
Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"You're too close," I manage to whisper, though my voice comes out breathier than I intended.
And significantly less convincing.
"Does it bother you?" he asks, thumb tracing small circles against my lower back through the expensive fabric of whatever pajamas I'm wearing. "My touch?"
The honest answer is no.
The honest answer is that it feels right in a way that's terrifying and wonderful and completely overwhelming.
The honest answer is that I want him closer, not farther away.
"No," I admit, the word escaping before I can think better of it.
His smile softens at my admission, losing some of its teasing edge and gaining something warmer, more genuine.
"Can I kiss your forehead?" he asks, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
The request is so unexpected, so gentle, that it completely derails my ability to think coherently.
"Why?" I ask, even though as the word leaves my mouth, I know I'm going to say yes.
Because this is Wes.
Because he's asking instead of assuming.
Because there's something in his eyes that looks like hope mixed with longing mixed with the kind of careful affection that makes my chest tight.
His smile widens, but his eyes soften to something almost vulnerable.
"I miss you, that's all," he whispers.
Five simple words that hit harder than any grand declaration.
Five words that acknowledge the decade of distance without demanding anything in return.
Five words that remind me why I fell for him in the first place.
I try to maintain my stubborn facade, try to hold onto the walls I've built so carefully over the years. But the truth is, I miss him too. I miss all of them. I miss the easy affection, the casual intimacy, the feeling of being cared for by people who know all my secrets and love me anyway.
"Fine," I say, though it comes out less reluctant than I intended.
More like permission than resignation.
He leans down slowly, giving me plenty of time to change my mind, and presses his lips gently to my forehead. The kiss is soft, reverent, lasting just long enough to feel like a promise before he pulls back.
"From now on, do you promise to take better care of yourself?" he whispers against my skin.
The question makes me want to laugh and cry in equal measure.
Because taking care of myself has never been the problem.
