Chapter 18 #2
“I won’t tell her if you don’t want me to,” I silently mouth towards Fintan.
His mouth forms into something I would describe as agreement.
“I don’t—not yet at least,” he mouths back harsher and director than he looks.
Eliane interrupts our silent talking session by throwing off her blanket and stepping out of bed.
“You should stay in bed, Goldie,” Fintan reacts. Eliane points her finger at him.
“I am fine,” she whispers. “You can’t force me into lying in this bed. I am finally out of the mountains, Da.” His expression changes and he presses his lips together. He pulls her into a hug.
The comforting and tight kind of hugs.
The ones I always dreamed of receiving from my mom and dad when I was a little kid. I lock my jaw in place. Fintan brushes her hair with his hand.
“You’re right, Goldie. You’re a strong and independent woman. I could never tell or force you into doing something.” Eliane steps back and I assume she is smiling.
“Thanks, Da,” she whimpers. I sit here in silence as I watch the two of them interact.
She spins around and gives me one of those stunning smiles.
She looks cute. She strolls towards me and stands behind me.
She doesn’t touch me or say anything. Still, a shiver rolls over my spine and goosebumps explode over my body.
I stare towards the ground to keep myself and my body in control.
I can hear the door open and close again.
As I look up, the room is empty. I can feel Eliane is still standing behind me.
A cold hand reaches for the hem of my loose T-shirt.
The place the hands touch my body feels like it is on fire.
I try not to react. ‘Never let them know you, nobody can be trusted completely,’ Mom once said and it’s something I try to keep in the back of my mind.
“Can I take this off?” Eliane whispers quietly.
I nod, not finding the courage to speak out loud. I lift my arms so she can take my shirt off. She throws the shirt in front of me on the bed.
“I always knew you liked seeing me shirtless,” I tease in our mind, too nervous to really say those things out loud.
I should joke about this, or else do something she’ll regret. I can feel her blush and she hesitates touching me again. My heart pounds in my throat.
“They didn’t heal you,” she whimpers, and her voice breaks a bit. Her fingers trace the three wounds on my shoulder. I didn’t want these healed. I want their scars. I keep the scars as a reminder.
“It is nothing, Honey. You’re the one passing out and hiding your broken ribs,” I tease, but my voice doesn’t sound like I am joking.
“I told you, I am fine,” she breathes out bossily, but I can hear her breath pitch.
I use my hands to push myself up from the chair I’m sitting on.
I turn around and step closer to her. She is wearing a light-yellow shirt that is way too big for her body.
I really want to track those curves with my eyes again, but this shirt makes it hard.
Her golden hair lays on her shoulders in loose waves.
She looks up to me as I step close. I can see her swallow as she looks up at me with doe eyes, her plump lips are slightly parted.
I can feel my eyes darken as my gaze washes over her.
I really—really want to press my mouth against hers.
My upper body is shirtless and I need to resist everything inside of me to not lift her shirt off her body too and lift her up, press her against the wall.
Could I kiss her here, or would it make me even a bigger asshole than I already am? Probably.
She is being vulnerable.
But her eyes speak something different than innocence.
Her eyes scan my body.
“You’re really muscular,” she squeaks out, looking into my eyes. She starts tapping her foot, but is too stubborn and bossy to turn around. The light hanging in the rooms seems to shine brighter and start to swing because of the energy rushing through it.
“That is what you get from forced training your whole life,” I growl. She is still holding our eye contact, making sure not to break it.
“Is that how you got those scars?” she breathes out.
I thought she would never find the courage to ask. Her fingers brush the huge scar at the bottom of my chest.
I shiver, hard.
I really hope she didn’t see that. I close my eyes, and a groan escapes my throat.
“Something like that.” Before I can ruin this thing—tension, bond or however you can call this—I spin around, breaking our eye contact. I take the shirt off the bed and throw it over my shoulder. I can’t look her in the eyes as I walk out.
“See you later, Honey.” I can feel her smile without looking at her. I need to press my lips together before I do something stupid.
“When did you get that new tattoo? The little sunny thing on your chest,” she gushes. Should I answer that question honestly? Maybe she doesn’t understand anything of what it means.
“The week before the trials.” I sigh. The corner of my mouth twitches up because of her alertness.
She noticed.