Page 18 of Sweet Madness
Dragging myself out of bed, I run my fingers through my tangled curls and check for bad breath.
Nope. I’m good.
“Wake up, princess.” The voice comes from behind the door. Shaw.
It isn’t a dream. This is really happening.
I sigh happily, bouncing on my feet, eager to see him again. I quickly check myself in the mirror. My curls look decent for a bed-head look. I’m wearing silky white pajamas and matching heart-shaped slippers. For a second, I contemplate changing my shoes, but I don’t.
I’m too eager to find out what this day in my new reality with this man is going to look like.
With excitement rushing through my veins, my lips curve into a small smile as I open the door. The first thing I notice is that he’s wearing faded denim, muddy black boots, and a gray T-shirt tight enough to show the ripples and dips of his chiseled abs. On his left bicep, a tattoo unfurls like a hidden story etched in ink. The black design, intricate and bold, depicts a pattern of small dots that almost seems like a constellation, but it isn’t. I find myself mesmerized not only by his tattoo but also by his broad shoulders and bulging biceps. He exudes masculinity in every way. His face is chiseled with rugged charm, a strong, angular jawline framed by a day’s worth of stubble. I take in his plump, natural red lips and the faint scar tracing his cheekbone. And then there’s his hair—a magnificent tangle of blonde, no longer kept close to his head as it once was in his youth. Now he has this untamed and rugged look that does ridiculous things to my heart. He was always handsome, but now there’s something wild about his type of beauty. It’s the kind of raw, masculine allure that fantasies are made of.
“Shaw Bear,” I drawl with a huge smile on my face, feeling happiness bubbling inside me just from seeing him.
“Miss Kenton.” He arches his brow.
Ugh. Miss Kenton.
Oh, how I’m starting to dislike my last name. It sounds wrong coming from his lips.
“Again, with this nonsense,” I wave him off.
Okay, I get it. I’m no one to him—just his client and current assignment. But to me, he has always been and will always be someone important. No matter how long it’s been since we last saw each other. No matter the short amount of time we spent together when I was a child. He made my days brighter by just being himself.
He will be surrounded by darkness, yet he will save you more than once. And then it will be your turn to save him.
I look at Shaw while Davina’s warning runs through my thoughts. I notice the way his eyes no longer shine with life like they used to. His smile is non-existent. Is darkness what plagues you, beautiful man? Are you the man with sad eyes she saw in my future? I wonder.
“Your life won’t be perfect, sweetheart. Many roads will appear before you, and the one you choose will be a rocky one, but it will take you to the place your heart has always desired—home. Be brave and, most importantly, be smart. Sometimes our brains get in the way of our happiness, which is why you’ll need to listen to your heart. A piece of advice: the heart and the mind don’t always get along and sometimes they might fool you. So be wise.” Davina’s words are vivid in my memory as I stand before the man who once was the moon, stars, and all the galaxies to me. Is it by his side where I belong?
Perhaps the situation with the stalker led me to him. Is this home? Am I being naive? Oh, so many questions.
Luckily, I have time to figure all this out.
Maybe my heart and my mind will finally play along. They haven’t done that much lately—never when it comes to a man. One was never fully invested. My heart.
But as I stand here with brown eyes staring back at me, that organ beats wildly.
Do you recognize him, heart? He’s the one we’ve been waiting for.
Thud. Thud.
Shaw’s gaze slowly traces from my face downward, lingering on the silky pearl-white camisole and matching shorts edged with white lace. When his whiskey-brown eyes finally meet mine again, it feels as though he has marked every inch of my skin, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Feeling emboldened by his obvious ogling, I grin. “Is something the matter, cowboy?”
He scowls in response, his gaze flickering before momentarily meeting mine. “Get your ass downstairs,” he mutters gruffly, a faint flush betraying his irritation. “We have shit to do.”
Oh, what a charmer.
Not letting his grumpy behavior dampen my mood, I clap my hands together in excitement and ask, “What ‘shit’ are we doing today?”
He tilts his head, studying my face like I’m a puzzle he wants to piece together—or maybe he’s just stunned by my use of foul language.
I don’t swear often. Not really. But when I do, there’s no stopping it. I can put a badmouthed trucker to shame.
The look in his eyes tells me all I need to know. I’ve surprised him somehow. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing remains to be seen, but for now, I’ll just enjoy the feeling in my stomach every time he looks at me like he does now—torn between not knowing what to make of me and wanting to know more.
Thud. Thud.