Page 52 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

She blinked, coming out of her daze, and looked up at me. “What?” Then she shook her head. “I mean, yes, of course.” A smile bloomed across her face. “Did you see him hug me?”

“I did.”

She touched the side of her waist as if she could still feel the pressure of him squeezing her. “He smelled like bologna,” she murmured distractedly.

I chuckled, moving even closer to her. “Typical kid smell, I bet.”

She nodded, her hand moving to the side of her arm. “Yeah. Probably.” She looked up at me again. “He didn’t seem afraid of me at all by the end there, did he?”

I shook my head. “Not at all.”

Another smile lit her face. “That was pretty amazing.”

You’re amazing, I wanted to say.

I stayed next to her, waiting, not sure what to do but remaining nearby in case she needed…well, anything.

“I guess we should get back to shelving these books,” she murmured, sounding as if she were still a little lost.

She knelt and gathered the heaping pile she’d set down in order to go through the fairy tale books with Kit, and tried to stand with them in her arms.

“Here, let me help.” I reached out, but she shook her head.

“No, I’ve got it.” And she tried to stand again, but I was still attempting to relieve her of them.

We were both determined, and it kind of caused a collision in which we bumped into each other and lost our footing. The books in her arms went flying, we tripped over another pile sitting nearby, and to the floor we went.

“Shit!” I cursed, landing on top of her, face-first, while plastering her back to the floor with a full impression of the woman under me, breasts, hips, thighs, legs. “I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry. Shit. Are you okay? Isobel?”

I sat up, the feel of her breasts smashed into my chest following me.

When I looked down at her, she blinked but didn’t move or speak. She just stared up at the ceiling and curled her hands up against her collarbone.

I sat next to her and hovered over her. “Are you okay?” I repeated, fearing the worst.

She started to nod, making a stray piece of hair that had come out of her ponytail fall into her face, a few strands tangling with her overlong eyelashes.

Unconsciously, I brushed them from her eyes, asking, “Are you sure? You’re not talking.”

“I’m—” She gasped when the tips of my fingers traced lightly over her scar while I was sweeping her hair aside.

“What?” I asked immediately, starting to freak out. “You are hurt, aren’t

you? Where?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I’m not—I’m not hurt. It’s just… you…”

“What?” I demanded, ready to rush her to a hospital if I had to.

“You touched my scars,” she breathed. Then she blinked up into my eyes. “No one ever does that.”

My mouth fell open before I said, “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they were that tender. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She let out a small laugh and began to sit up. “You misunderstand. It didn’t hurt. I don’t feel much of anything there anymore since the nerve endings were damaged. It was just…weird that someone voluntarily touched them.”

I watched her wipe another piece of hair from her face. “A good weird or bad weird?” I finally dared to ask.

She paused then nodded. “A good weird.”

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