Page 52 of His Innocent Muse

I can hardly hear her over the staticky white noise in my head. I dive at her, wrapping my arms tight around her waist and lifting her.

She hooks her legs around my hips and holds on as I carry us wordlessly through the loft, setting her right on the side of the bed.

The white noise stalls. She looks so beautiful, her radiance contrasting against my dark decor.

“It’s softer than I thought it would be.” She runs her palms over the surface, bouncing once and giving me a smile.

A lump forms in my throat. I almost lost her. I would have never known a version of me existed that was willing to set my entire empire, this building included, on fire, just to keep her safe.

I drop to my knees in front of her and slowly lift her foot, setting it on my thigh. Her eyes widen, chest hitching.

There are so many things I want to say, but neither of us speaks as I unwind the straps of her sandal. She hisses in pain when I peel it off of her foot, but thankfully, it doesn’t look as bad as I first expected.

“You should soak them,” I murmur, gently unwinding the other strap, and freeing that foot, too. “I’ll bring you a—”

“Hey.”

She tentatively rests her fingertips on my cheek, and the words hang in my throat.

“Maybe tomorrow? You should…we should sleep,” she whispers.

She’s right. Absolutely right.

I shove to my feet and grab her again, lifting her in my arms. I can’t stand the thought of not having my eyes on her for even a second. I stalk through the apartment until I find my favorite T-shirt where it fell.

“I thought I left that downstairs.”

“You did.”

I lean her down until she hooks her fingertips under the collar with a giggle, then I straighten and head back to the bed again.

When I set her down this time, I sit beside her, a hand on her thigh.

She fiddles with the tiny hole at the collar with a smile before holding it out to me. “Guess you can’t sleep without it, huh?”

“I sleep nude.”

“Of course you do,” she says in a rushed breath, swallowing thickly.

“It’s for you. I need…I need you to wear it.”

Her gaze softens, a gentle bite landing on her bottom lip. “Okay, Ghost. I get it.”

She drops my shirt to her lap, covering my hand, and slowly grabs the hem of hers.

I should avert my eyes, or turn. But I won’t do either.

17

LUCY

Ghost watches my hands with startling intensity, and I freeze in place, remembering the kitchen fiasco and not wanting to repeat that. This is going too well for me to scare him again. He’s doing such a fine job scaring himself and actually listening to me when I try to soothe him. The last thing I wanna do is send him running back to whatever room he decided to hide in, where he clearly isn’t sleeping.

“Oh, um.”

How do I do this? He’s waiting on something, I can see it.

“What is it?”

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