Butterfly in Amber (Spotless Book 4) by Camilla Monk

Author:Camilla Monk [Monk, Camilla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 2016, Crystal Whisperer, Action, Spotless, Adventure, Romantic Suspense, Beating Ruby, comedy, Thriller, Romance, chick lit
Publisher: Yaypub
Published: 2017-05-11T18:30:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

HOME

I can’t sleep.

I kept the sweatshirt on, but the linen feels scratchy against my bare legs. I fidget and toss around in my bed, replaying the evening’s events in my head. I suspect I’ve absorbed too much intel at once; my long-neglected neurons are working overtime . . . thinking of March sleeping in the bed next to mine. So close and so far.

It should make me happy. No, actually it should rock my world that I have this, someone who knows me intimately, who loves me enough to stick with me and persist against the odds of man and nature. Instead I feel lost, inadequate. I’ve forgotten almost everything about him. He’s been looking for me for all this time, he fought off killer dolphins at the Poseidon Dome for me, and here I am before him, an empty shell with nothing to give back.

I’m not even sure how I feel about him; all I know is that pull when I’m around him, equal parts fear and need. It’s like my heart is continuously breaking in slow motion, piece by piece. I fold and unfold my legs for the umpteenth time. How can he sleep so easily? I roll around and watch him in the dark. He sleeps on his side, bare chested, his back turned to me.

The street lamps outside cast a faint yellowish light that filters through worn net curtains. It caresses his skin, gilds an intriguing geography of muscles, veins . . . scars. Once my gaze settles on it, the disk of tortured flesh on his back is all I can see. It’s about the size of a Frisbee, stretching from his left shoulder to the valley of his spine. I can’t make out the details clearly from my vantage point. But you’ve seen it. Touched it. You know . . . The memory is at arm’s reach, tantalizingly close to the surface. I need to get closer.

I slip out of the covers with excruciating care and venture a toe on the carpet. Then another. I hold my breath as I creep to his bed. I can’t shake a sense of déjà vu about all this, me standing next to a bed he’s sleeping in. After a moment of hesitation, I sit on the very edge of the mattress, like a sparrow ready to take off at the slightest threat. An odd combination of guilt and excitement sizzles through me as my fingertips graze the covers. He doesn’t react. He should: any self-respecting killer would have been awake, gun in hand by now.

“Biscuit . . .”

The quiet echo of his voice makes me jump out of my skin. I nearly fly away to the other end of the room before I steel my resolve. I need to do this. I ball my fists and sit back. His leg touches mine through the covers, heat seeping between us.

“Do you want me to make some room for you?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Even as I say so, my hand has moved of its own volition to touch him.

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