Page 18 of The Darkest Chase

Holy shit, how?

This is the first time we’ve ever really spoken.

And in a matter of minutes, he sees right through me.

I look away sharply with a weird flutter in my heart.

“It’s not you, I promise. It’s habit. But if you can help me up and get me away from this crowd, you’ve got a deal,” I say.

He doesn’t reply.

A second later, his strong arms flex around me before he gently sets me down, maneuvering his thighs from under me so he can stand without ever fully letting me go.

Instead, his hand slides down my arm until he catches my hand. His fingers may be raw—almost brutal—but they’re still graceful and warm as they catch mine.

My heart skips again as I see him standing over me at full height, rakish and framed in morning light. A fallen angel.

Dear God.

I’ve got to stop doing that, letting myself get so swept up in looking at him.

It’s the damsel in distress shock, I bet. That, plus the fact that I’ve never kissed anyone. While that wasn’t really a kiss, it was the first time I’ve ever felt a man’s mouth on mine.

Something about the liquid push and pull between us brought me back. I don’t just mean the oxygen.

I curl my fingers in his, trying not to tremble.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say. “You must have better things to do than babysitting.”

“It’s not babysitting.” He continues holding my hand firmly. “It’s my job. The second you hit the ground, I clocked in.”

It’s my job.

Right, right, right.

Duty calls.

All the more reason why I need to stop tumbling head over heels into fantasyland and wondering if I should check myself in for brain damage.

“Of course,” I say distantly—then I tighten my hand in his and give myself a little bit of a pull.

What I’m not expecting is the way his arm flexes.

The way he lifts me up like I’m weightless.

The whole world spins for a second.

Gasping, I get my feet under me, trying not to waver from the surprise of it, bracing one hand against his chest.

Oops.

I freeze up for the tenth time today.

Yes, with my hand still locked in his while my other hand rests over the beat of his heart.

He’s so calm on the outside. So withdrawn, this impenetrable alabaster statue. But under my palm, there’s a heartbeat just as wild as mine.

Is he caught up in this strangeness too?