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When she touches my cheek, I can pretend I’m not alone.

Chapter Eighteen

Ann

He closes hiseyes when I stroke his beard.

His head is clearing of drugs. He’s not suffering from blood loss. Things are getting real. Maybe even dangerous.

Still, I had to go to him.

This little fucking patch of nature out in the freezing cold morning. He’s lying there like it’s heaven. People have taken so much from Kiro.

He’s dangerous. I know that.

But he’s amazing, too. Fierce and vulnerable and beautiful. And honest in a way other men I’ve known aren’t.

I’d never slept so deeply as when I was in his arms. And I’ve never felt so turned on until I woke up with his hands on my belly and his teeth two faint wicked indents on the back of my neck. It was…dangerously hot.

And when he had me against the wall, I knew he was out of control. It scared the fuck out of me, but I also liked it.

The electricity surging between us felt forbidden and good.

I move my hand over his beard. Lord, how I slept. For the first time in ages, I slept. The anxiety is coming back now—so stupid to think it wouldn’t come back. For a while, I felt clear and happy. Free. Normal.

He doesn’t take his cheek from the grass. His dark hair is splayed out around him. There is something so primal about how he is right now.

Again he takes in a ragged breath, as though my touch burns him. Why would my touch pain him?

“How does it feel? The grass—how does it feel?”

“It smells of chemicals.”

Yeah, I suppose it does. “Exhaust. Probably pesticides.”

Does he know what those things are? Maybe. He would’ve been exposed to a lot of TV at Fancher—at least before he was confined to his room. He has some familiarity with cars.

“Your sense of smell is amazing.”

His soulful amber eyes never stray from mine. Is he thinking about the scent of my arousal…that he could smellthrough the fucking door?

My face feels hot. “The smells at the hospital must have driven you out of your mind.”

Warily he observes me. The streetlights cut through the gloomy morning, lending rich drama to his cheekbones, his eyes. His kissable lips.

“It feels good,” he says, and I realize he’s talking about the grass.

I smile. “This grimy little scrub patch?”

“I haven’t been outside more than minutes at a time in…two years.”

Fuck.

“Do you remember anything from your life before the wilderness?” I ask.

“No.”

“Do you know why somebody would want to keep you in there? In Fancher? Hide you, keep you out of the way…I don’t know. The more information we have, the stronger we are. They called you Kiro.”


Tags: Annika Martin Erotic