I wake up in the middle of the night, disoriented by the darkness. I’m not in my room. A leg lies beneath mine and my cheek is resting on hard flesh. Squinting, I look up and Saint is watching me, and I feel myself blush.
“Hey,” I say.
He smiles lightly as I tug the sheet up to my chest and sit up, the arm around me moving to lightly caress my back. “Hey.”
When he sits up a little too, I edge closer to lean my shoulder back against his chest.
He used to be my 1 a.m. I-can’t-sleep text. Now he’s my I-can’t-sleep comfort item. Like a blankie. But he’s alive. And I think I’m his 1 a.m. can’t-sleep comfort thing too.
But then, he’s wide awake so I’m not doing a good job, am I?
“Can’t sleep?” I whisper, gazing at him.
He shakes his deliciously bed-mussed head, running his hand down the back of my hair. “Watching you’s even better.”
I glance around. “What time is it?”
I’m about to search his room for any indication of the time, or about to feel for my phone nearby, when his voice stops me.
“I’m going to ask you now.”
“What?”
“There I was, meeting your mother. And I wanted to hear that I was your guy.”
I blink as it dawns on me. I’m so absolutely awake now that a frisson of nerves and excitement starts crawling through my veins.
“I’m going to ask you now.” The caress of his thumb across my lips makes me realize my mouth is parted and how fast I’m suddenly breathing. “I’ve been ready for far longer than you have, Rachel. You weren’t ready . . . maybe nobody can be ready for me.” He smirks, but there’s a gleam of sheer purpose and determination in his gaze.
I stare, helplessly aching. “Ask me,” I breathe.
“No half measures. I might be difficult—”
“Nothing can be more difficult than not being with you,” I say, cutting him off.
“I’m ambitious,” he calmly continues. “I ride my people hard, and I’ll ride my girlfriend harder, what with everything I want from her—but I’ll give her back everything she gives me tenfold.”
“Sin, ask me,” I breathe.
“Do you want to?”
“I do want to—”
“Be my girlfriend, Rachel. Officially. Exclusive and monogamous.”
I can’t talk at all. Right this second Malcolm has officially taken my power of speech. Will there be anything left that I don’t willingly give him?
“I want to be that guy you can’t ever take out of your head, Rachel. The one you’ve been waiting for. I want you to have eyes just for me and smile just for me and a tone of voice only I will ever hear.”
I’m nodding in the dark and then I whisper, “Yes. I’ve been your girlfriend for a long time, title or no.”
He nuzzles the side of my jaw. “Does a piece of your soul belong to me?”
Oh god. My article.
I really and truly can’t speak, now, when I’m supposed to be screaming my answer. I’m a thief. If he never touches me again, I’ll have stolen the way he smells and feels right now.
He pulls me closer. “Say it,” he coaxes. “I liked your article very much. I was mad, but I know you, Rachel. I know you wrote that to me. You challenged me to come after you. I’m meeting your challenge now. You wanted to know if I’d catch you? I will. I’ve got you.
“Say it,” he demands. “Does a piece of your soul belong to me?”
His eyes are not green ice, they’re green lava.
I duck my head, and I think he can see my blush in the dark. “Yes,” I say. And somehow, that’s enough. Just one word.
He ducks his head too, in search of my lips, and now he’s the thief, stealing a kiss from me.
“Dibs,” he whispers.
