Chapter Forty-Three
Ruby
The camera feed is boring.
Grainy black-and-white footage of an empty yard, a stray cat slipping through the fence, Samson shifting in the straw. Xavier sits beside me at the kitchen table, one forearm resting near the laptop, his shoulder close enough that the warmth of him settles along my arm.
Nothing. No shadows. No movement that doesn’t belong.
I close the laptop. “Well. Our biggest threat appears to be raccoons, and that stray cat.”
A huff of laughter. “Suspicious. The both of them.”
The sound lingers longer than it should, sending my nerves into overdrive.
“Come on.” I push back from the table, needing to do something with my hands. “If you’re going to keep fixing my house, I’m putting you to work.”
We fall into rhythm like we’ve done this a thousand times. Sanding. Passing tools back and forth. Dust rising into the air, catching the light.
The radio hums low on the counter, something slow and familiar. Neither of us is listening.
“Hold that edge.” He tips his head to the right.
I shift my grip. His hand comes in to steady the cabinet door, our fingers brushing.
Not long. Just enough to feel it. I don’t pull away right away. Neither does he.
The moment stretches before he shifts his hand back to the wood as if nothing happened. The sander kicks on again. Squirt grunts from the doorway. Then he charges, straight between us.
“Squirt–”
It’s too late. He wedges herself between our legs, snout pushing into Xavier’s thigh before swinging back toward me, circling, grunting, determined to be included.
I try to step around him. He pivots, and I catch my foot on his side. The floor tilts, and Xavier’s hands are on me. Firm. Immediate. My balance catches against him, palms braced instinctively against his chest.
Everything stops. Except for the staccato racing of my heart against my ribs, and the blood rushing in my ears. Squirt shuffles away, uninterested now that the disruption is over. Neither of us moves. His hands stay at my waist. Warm. Steady. Too still.
I feel his breath near my temple. Slow at first, then uneven.
My fingers curl into his shirt without meaning to.
The fabric shifts under my grip. He’s so close.
If I glance up, our mouths would brush. Every inch of my body aches for me to look up, but I don’t.
It’s safer. Smarter. But why does it feel so wrong to deny myself a tiny taste?
“Squirt is a workplace hazard.” His voice is rougher than I expected, causing my breath to catch.
I don’t look up. “You should file a report.”
His thumbs shift. Barely. A small movement against my sides that shouldn’t feel like anything, but it does. It feels like the world is tilting on its axis.
The space between us closes without either of us stepping. I feel the heat of him now. The solid line of his chest. The steady beating of his heart. The way he hasn’t let go.
“You can let go. I think I’ll stay on my feet.” The words come out softer than I intended.
He doesn’t move. “Do you want me to?”
His voice is lower now. Closer. Skating along my skin. My pulse jumps hard enough that I feel it in my throat. I shake my head before I can think it through.
This time, I look up, meeting his soul-stealing blue eyes. My knees go weak. One taste. What could it hurt? “No.” The word barely carries.
One of his hands leaves my waist. Slowly. Not pulling away, just changing positions. His fingers brush along my arm, up to my shoulder, then higher, until his palm rests against my cheek. Warm. Rough. Careful.
He pauses there. Long enough that I feel it…. The weight of the choice. The way he’s waiting. This is my decision. If I break away or tell him to stop, he will.
My blood thrums in my veins. I don’t want to tell him to stop. I want him to keep going. To find out what it feels like to be in Xavier’s arms. I might regret kissing him later, but I’m not going to lose the opportunity. Because I know I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.
My breath slows, becoming more erratic. I don’t step back. I don’t say anything. He’s closer now.
I feel the shift before it happens. The way the space between us narrows that last inch. The first touch of his mouth against mine is light. So light I almost miss it.
I don’t move. Not at first. The contact lingers. Touching. Waiting. I tighten my fingers in his shirt, securing him in place as if he’s going to disappear. Then, I lean in enough to meet him.
The second kiss is careful, but not as uncertain. Warmer. Closer. More friction.
His hand at my waist pulls me in a fraction more, and the shift of it sends a slow heat throughout my body. Lower. Aching. My breath catches against his mouth.
He stills for half a second. Then his lips meet mine again. The kiss deepens, not fast, not urgent. Just… more. So much more. His thumb moves once against my cheek.
My hand slides up his chest without thinking, stopping below his collar. Everything feels sharper. The sound of the radio. The faint creak of the house. The brush of his shirt against my wrist.
He says my name, quiet, almost lost against my mouth. I feel it more than I hear it. My chest constricts in response. He pulls back first. Not far. Just enough that our foreheads rest together.
His breath isn’t steady anymore. Neither is mine. We stay there. Close. Chests rising and meeting. Neither of us moving.
“This complicates things,” he says.
My hands are still holding onto his shirt. I don’t let go. “It already was.”
His thumb brushes once along my cheek again. We don’t step apart. Not yet.
What am I doing? My feelings for Xavier have always threatened to destroy me, and he’s only interested in physical connections that don’t last