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Daring.

When Marissa and I hung up the phone, I crossed the room.

Wolfe watched me carefully, hands dangling between his knees. I knelt by his feet, hands gently bracing against his thighs. His breath was uneven in the space between us and I was sure that if he had his heart, it would be racing now.

I stared up at him, committing every detail to memory. The freckles. The fullness of his mouth. The strength of him. The hair that never stayed in place.

I licked my dry lips. “Thank you,” I said simply.

“What for?” he asked, voice rough.

“For everything. For pushing me. For standing by me. For helping me find some bravery.”

His lips twitched, but he shook his head. “Those things were already all there within you, grá. I’m not responsible for creating them.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve helped me find my way back to them.”

He regarded me carefully, eyes dark in the shadows.

I ran my hands up his knees, the length of his arms, over to his shoulders. He stopped breathing completely when I shifted closer. I touched his face gently, thumb brushing over his cheek. When I rose to my knees, it put us nearly nose to nose.

His eyes widened in alarm. “What are you doing?” he asked hoarsely. “We can’t—”

I pressed my lips to his cheek once, twice, three times. His skin was cold against my own. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands curling into fists by my side. I hoped he might reach for me, might crush me into his arms and kiss me like I dreamed he would.

He didn’t move.

“Tell me what it means.” I cupped his face again, thumb stroking against the corner of his mouth. “That word you call me.”

He gripped my wrist, his touch thinnest there. I felt him all the same, the hum of his soul brushing up against mine. I thought for a moment he’d push me away. Instead, he leaned into my touch, eyes closed. His lips met my palm and every inch of me erupted in chills. He kissed my palm three times, mouth lingering and sliding down to the pulse in my wrist.

I watched him, mouth parted, as he murmured against my skin, “Love. The word I call you means love.”

Chapter 23

“How can I read your book?”

Wolfe stood in the sitting room, hands propped on his hips.

I glanced up at him, hands white-knuckled around my laptop. It’d been another morning of nothing, of begging the cursor to speak to me and tell me what to put on the page.

“I can’t hold it,” he complained, flexing his hands. “Not well, at least. I’m worried I’ll drop it.”

I debated, rolling my lower lip between my teeth. “You don’t need to read it. It’s okay.”

“I know I don’t need to, I want to. I want to see what sort of wicked things roll around in that beautiful mind of yours.”

My heart gave a painful thump against my ribs. I thought about my book, the progression, the pool scene, the declarations and felt…almost shy.

“It’s going to be weird.”

Wolfe huffed, lips curling in amusement. “Why? Because you write about sex?”

“And you’ll be reading it,” I said, cheeks heating.

“I’m no different than anyone else.”

Yes, you are.