Chapter 29
Xavier
My slumbering ice prince lets out an adorable snuffle, throws his forearm over his face, and something stupid and warm thumps behind my ribs.
I threw some wood on the fire to keep him warm while I tidied up our picnic leftovers.
He shifts again, burrowing deeper into the pillow, and his mouth goes slack, fully surrendering to sleep. God, he looks young like this. Unarmored. Not the sharp-edged, barbed-wire version of himself he seems convinced he has to be around the rest of the world.
I wipe down the counter, rinse the little container we used for the chocolate covered strawberries and nuts, and stack the plates.
Every few seconds my eyes drag back to him, like my brain and dick staged a coup and are now running the show, like my brain hasn’t caught up on the fact that, yes, Artemis de la Pena is asleep on the floor.
The fire crackles. Shadows flicker up the length of his thighs where the blanket doesn’t quite reach, and—of course—I drift over to fix it, tugging it up another inch. His hand twitches, fingers brushing my wrist as if he’s reaching for something in a dream. Or someone.
My chest does a stupid, traitorous squeeze.
I sit beside him, careful and quiet. The kind of quiet stillness I’ve never managed with anyone else.
His phone, abandoned on the rug a couple feet away, vibrates and lights up with a notification.
He doesn’t stir. I pretend I’m not nosy enough to want to peek. Growth, baby.
I lean back on my palms and watch him. And it hits me, that low, creeping warmth I’ve been trying to outrun for weeks. Want is one thing. But this? This is something gentler, deeper. Something I can’t negotiate with.
My throat tightens. I shift, bracing both elbows on my knees and drag a hand down my face.
I should wake him. But he’ll likely panic, try to put space back between us before he says or does something that cracks us both open entirely.
But he looks so damn peaceful. Like the world isn’t clawing at him for once.
He mumbles something. Soft. Spanish. A name—no, not a name.
like a sigh that’s been softened into a plea.
I freeze. “Arte?” I whisper, leaning in.
Nothing. Just another soft breath. Another tiny snuffle that I swear to God I’m going to tease him about when he’s conscious.
I settle again. My hand hovers over his hair—because I’m apparently trying to ruin my entire life tonight—but then his lashes flutter.
He shifts, brows pinching, like he’s waking up into a nightmare.
“No,” I whisper, before I can stop myself. “Stay here. It’s okay.”
He hears that. I can tell by the way his shoulders drop, tension bleeding out like a slow leak. He’s not awake, not fully asleep, he’s just… here, with me.
The fire pops. He sighs. And before I can overthink it, I slide my fingers carefully through his hair.
He melts. Actually melts. Like his whole spine uncoils on the exhale.
I swear I stop breathing. “You’re trouble,” I murmur, barely audible.
“You know that?” I’m already in too deep to pretend otherwise.
His lips curve, the faintest ghost of a smile, as if he heard that too and tucked it somewhere safe.
I stroke his hair again, slower. His breathing evens out, syncing with the rhythm of my movements.
I’m not sure when my shoulders drop or when my own chest loosens, but something in me settles too.
Something stubborn and sharp and terrified.
Minutes pass. Or an hour. Time feels weird around him. Eventually, he stirs for real, blinking up at me. He can skate circles around grown men but can’t seem to understand how he ended up with his head in my lap.
“Hey.” I keep my voice low and soft.
His brows pinch. “Did I… fall asleep?”
“Like a fucking Disney princess.” I pause giving him a warm smile. “Minus the woodland creatures.”
He snorts, embarrassed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry. I didn’t—” He clears his throat, his voice thick with sleep and heavy with emotion. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Artemis.” I tug gently at the blanket. “You were exhausted. It’s fine. It’s what happens when you let the world pull you in all directions.”
He doesn’t argue. That alone tells me he’s still halfway in that dream-state softness. Vulnerable and a little unguarded, the kind of version of him that makes me want to build a goddamn fortress around him.
He glances at the fire. At the pillow I shoved under his head. At me. “You stayed?” His voice goes rasp-soft.
“Obviously. Though I can see why you’re asking since I’m the main character in your dreams these days, aren’t I?” I waggle my brows at him.
He swallows. Hard. His eyes linger on my hand still resting on the pillow beside his head. Then they shift to my face, like he’s trying to memorize something.
For a second, the air between us is electric in the quietest, most dangerous way. Then he whispers, “Thank you.” And that’s it. I’m a lost cause. Game over. Each crack he shows me in his armor makes me fall just a little bit more for this hard-shelled enforcer.
I look away first. Because if I don’t, I’m going to kiss him, and tonight is not the night for that kind of reckless decision. I don’t want him feeling like all we are, is something physical. I want him to see the potential, the more.
“Come on.” I clear my throat. “Sit up. You need water.”
He sits up slowly, like gravity’s pulling on him more heavily than usual. The blanket slips off his shoulders, and he looks at me again—really looks. And something in his eyes tells me he might feel it too.
He takes the glass from my hand, fingers brushing mine, and the contact is embarrassingly small for how it lights my whole damn nervous system on fire.
He sips, throat working, Adam’s apple bobbing in a way I absolutely should not be staring at.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What time is it?”
“Late,” I say. “Or early. Depends how dramatic you’re feeling.”
His lips twitch like he wants to smile but is too tired to commit. “Why’d you stay down here?” His voice is a low rumble.
I shrug. “You’re the runner in this… relationship? It’s easier to chase you when you stay still.”
Something flickers in his eyes, something soft and dangerous. “Maybe I’m tired of running,” he admits quietly.
Well. There goes the last of my composure.
He sets the glass aside and rubs the heel of his hand over his sternum, like there’s something tight under his ribs, and he doesn’t know how to loosen it. I watch his palm move, slow circles over his chest, and suddenly every cell in my body is screaming to put my hand there instead.
“Xavier.” His voice wavers. “I didn’t mean to—to make this weird.”
“It’s not weird,” I say, maybe a little too eagerly. “You fell asleep. I didn’t molest you.”
“Good start.” He deadpans.
“You snore.”
“I don’t snore.” The indignance on his face is adorable.
“You absolutely do snore.”
His eyes narrow, and there it is—the spark.
The grain of shrouded mischief he keeps caged inside that kills me every damn time.
He grabs the edge of the blanket and pulls it around himself like a cape, grumbling, but the corners of his mouth are lifting, betraying him.
He tries to stand too quickly. His legs wobble.
“Whoa.” His palm slaps against my shoulder. “Shit. My body’s… stiff.”
“No kidding. You just slept on the floor.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask when the last time was that he had real sleep, in a real bed, but I don’t want him getting pissed. The implication is there, though.
He glares at me, but he’s leaning on me, his weight warm and solid.
“Come on.” I slide an arm around his waist before he topples. “Bedtime, Ice Prince.”
His cheeks flush. “I can walk.”
“Sure you can. Right after your deliciously hot muscles remember they exist.” I steer him gently toward the stairs. He lets me. That alone feels like a miracle.
“Xavier.” His voice is low, almost shy. “You don’t have to…”
“Help you?” I finish for him as we start the climb. “No, I want to. Shocking, I know.”
He stumbles on the last step. My instinct kicks in. My hand shoots to his hip, fingers gripping the firm line there. His breath catches, and we both freeze.
Oh. Oh, we’re in so much fucking trouble.
His pupils blow wide, swallowing the soft brown. His lips part, his breath warm and shaky. My hand stays exactly where it shouldn’t stay, and he doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even tense. In fact, he leans into it, into me.
“Artemis…” My voice is low enough to vibrate between us. “Tell me you just want to go back to the land of snoring.”
He doesn’t. His gaze drops to my mouth. Once. Twice. Like a magnetic pull he keeps losing the strength to fight.
“I’m…” His breath trembles. “I’m not thinking straight.” He blinks like he’s still half asleep.
I stare at his lips. “Thinking straight has never done either of us any favors.”
A shaky exhale leaves him on a chuckle. I move first—slow, deliberate. My forehead brushing his, the faintest contact, giving him every chance to run or say no.
He doesn’t. He fists the front of my shirt like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. And his pained groan is the sound of a man whose walls have hairline fractures.
I guide him backward into a bedroom—no rush, no demand, just quiet gravity pulling us along. His fingers never leave my shirt. My hand never leaves his hip. The door clicks shut behind us.
He sways into me, chest to chest, breath mingling, that charged, aching almost-kiss thrumming between us like a live wire.
“Arte…” My thumb brushes the hollow of his hip.
He shivers.
“Get in bed,” I murmur. “Let me take care of you.”
His chin tilts up just slightly. It’s an invitation and a surrender all tangled together. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “How to let someone in.”
A low chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Unlucky for both of us,” I whisper against his jaw, “I don’t either, but we’ll figure it out together.”