Page 21 of Spark
VERITY
What the hell am I doing? I let this stranger hold my hand. I let him feed me candy. I let him comfort me, and I let his reassuring words make me feel like everything is going to be okay. Have I somehow ingested some kind of drug that’s making me crazy malleable? Because I don’t trust men. I especially don’t trust strangers.
So why am I trusting Warrick? Why is he different?
The moment I step foot into the bedroom he’s allowing me to use, I close the door behind me, wishing there was a lock I could slide into place. I know what men want from me. I’ve seen thousands of men stare at me, and they all want the same thing. They want to possess me. They want to touch the untouchable, so why would Warrick be any different?
He isn’t. He can’t be…can he?
But I’m not as scared as I should be. I’m not as wary as I know how to be. Something feels different, and I don’t know if I should trust that feeling or wait until he falls asleep to leave. But being touched by him didn’t feel exposing. When he comfortedme, I felt…comforted, and I honestly don’t know if another person’s touch has ever felt that way.
My dad wasn’t a tactile person. I don’t think I ever remember him hugging me to make me feel better when I was sad. I’ve had friends that have hugged me, but their touch just felt like nothing.
I’ve never wanted the boys or men who’ve shown interest in me to touch me. So why when Warrick holds my hand, do I not want him to let go?
Is it just me craving human connection after two months of trying to be as unnoticeable as possible? Or is it something else? Could he just be a nice person, and my built-in danger detector senses that?
When he’d mentioned me taking a nap, I’d used it as an excuse to put some distance between us, but now that I’m alone, I miss his steady, constant warmth. My hand feels chilled without him gripping it, and I feel cold without him by my side. Which is insane, considering I only met him for the first time yesterday.
I have to fight the urge to go back downstairs just to be close to him again. Instead, I pull back the comforter and slip into the bed fully dressed. My dress will be a crumpled mess, but I can’t take off my clothes in his house, no matter how much I like his comforting aura.
Exhaling, I roll to face the door, needing to be able to see any danger coming my way. There’s no way I should be able to relax here, and yet my body feels like it’s sinking into the soft mattress and the crisp clean sheets that smell like laundry detergent and fabric softener.
I don’t intend to close my eyes, but keeping them open gets harder and harder until I’m dragged into sleep, wrapped in a sense of safety I shouldn’t be feeling.
It’s dark when the sound of my name being called pulls me back to wakefulness.
“Verity.”
Sucking in a breath, I bolt upright, blindly scanning the dark, unfamiliar room.
“Amore mio, are you awake?” a gruff voice asks from the door that’s been cracked open just enough to allow a sliver of light to creep in.
“Sorry. Yes, I’m awake,” I croak.
“What did we talk about, amore mio?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I say on instinct, apologizing for apologizing.
“Can I come in?” he queries.
“It’s your house.”
“It’s our house now, amore mio, and this is your room.” Then he says something else, but it’s too quiet for me to hear.
Shuffling out of the bed, I haphazardly pull the comforter back over the sheet, then head for the door, opening it and finding Warrick filling the doorway, his huge body taking up every inch of the space.
Something inside of me settles at the sight of him. This man I barely know looming over me should scare me half to death, but despite his size and the fact that this is his house, he’s outside the room, and not even his toes have crossed over into the space that he’s offered me to use as my own.
“I wish I didn’t have to wake you, amore mio, but dinner is ready and you need to eat,” he says, his eyes raking over me, starting at my head and running down to my bare feet.
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have slept this long.”
Reaching for my hand, he curls his much larger one around mine, then brings our joined hands to my cheeks, running a finger along my jaw. “You still look tired. You can go back to sleep once you’ve eaten.”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t need much sleep,” I protest.
“I don’t think you’ve ever gotten enough sleep, so you don’t even realize how tired you really are.”
