Page 16 of The Darkest Chase
He’s suddenly cast in shadows, and all I can make out is his athletic silhouette, tall and strong with an older runner’s frame, so sleek inside a crisp dark uniform that seems tailored for the graceful angles of his body.
Then one strong arm slides under me and he lifts me up, cradling me against his wall of a chest. His warmth envelops me.
“Are you with me now? Are you feeling all right?” he whispers.
I don’t answer.
I’m too dizzy.
I can’t even speak and it has nothing to do with the unwanted audience witnessing my crappiest day ever.
It has everything to do with my gaze locked on his mouth.
It's still so very red.
So wet, too, gleaming and slick.
Like we’ve been kissing.
Like that’s really what I need to be thinking about right now.
He studies me with a searching gaze.
He doesn’t smile.
If anything, he looks like he doesn’t know how, even if that scarlet mouth can be so generous.
“Feeling better, Miss Grey?” he asks. His voice is dry, dispassionate, serious yet somehow reassuring.
I blink slowly.
Yeah, I’m… definitely not reacting very well right now.
Blame it on the attack, though I can feel the medicine now, easing that suffocating, reminding my lungs how to work again.
“H-how…” Talking is hard, my throat constricted so tight, barely a whisper squeezing past. “…how do you know my n-name?”
“Small town.” His lips twitch at the corners, but no… no smile. He tilts his head toward the far edge of the town square, our shop a short ways down the lane. “I remembered you work at the furniture shop approximately thirty seconds after I was sure you weren’t going to die on me.”
“O-oh. Yeah. Okay.” I try to smile, but everything feels so numb and floaty. I’m not sure if my lips are moving. “It’s… it’s Talia. You d-don’t have to call me Miss Grey.”
“Got it, Talia.” God, the way his sultry voice rolls over my name does something crazy, warming me from head to toe and chasing away the chill of trauma. “You couldn’t answer me before, but did you hit your head?”
“No. I’m… I’m used to falling. It’s almost instinct to tuck up so my body takes the brunt of it.”
“You’ve probably got some bruises, maybe knocked a few bones around, but no concussion. That’s good.”
Pale eyes flick over me quickly, taking me in from head to toe.
There’s this careful coolness in his voice, completely at odds with the kindness in the way he handles me. Almost like his voice and those gunmetal-blue eyes are a mask, and his touch tells the truth—and maybe it’s that neediness after having a bad attack, but I don’t want him to let me go.
Not yet.
“So this is a regular thing for you, Talia?” he asks.
I shake my head, wincing as it pulls at my sore shoulders a bit.
“Not anymore. I mean, I used to have bad attacks as a kid, but it doesn’t happen much these days.”