Page 103 of Fuse

Astoundingly aware…

“Hey! Gang!” His shout booms into the night, sending birds out of the trees and nocturnal animals scurrying away but definitely gaining everyone’s undivided attention. After giving them all a grateful nod, though still shrouded in just a blanket, he declares in a more reasonable tone, “Look. We’re damn thankful for every single one of you”—and flicks a meaningful gaze toward Wade, Fersh, and Alex—“especially those who poured so much of their talent and courage into helping both of us today.” While winging his dazzling smile around to everyone else, he loops an arm around my neck. “But right now, Em and I need a second to break this all down for ourselves.”

As soon as he hits the middle of that sentence, I duck my head. I’m probably not the only one who heard his stress on “all,” but I’m damn sure I’m alone in understanding what it really covers.

The more for which it’s come to truly stand for.

“Oh, my sweet boy.” Trixie takes the lead on responding for the entire group. With tears turning her seafoam eyes to peridot, she approaches with both hands outstretched, cupping her son’s face with tight adoration. “You two take all the time you need. You’ve earned it.”

Reece closes his eyes for a long second, rubbing his free hand atop hers. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“Not as much as I lo— Reece Andrew?”

Her flustered demand halts him as he’s scooping up my hand and heading toward the footpath leading to the lookout point beneath the peak of our memorial hill. “What?” He jogs his head back over a shoulder.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

“Taking time with Emma?” His dark brows hunch. “Like you just told me I should?”

“Not in the middle of the wilderness! In nothing but a blanket! Reece? Reece?”

I want to giggle but don’t give in until we’re well out of range of the house lights—their power now fully restored by Alex and Fersh, thank goodness—and into the silver and gray depths where night shadows are mingling with the moonlight. As we climb the path, Chase’s soothing voice drifts out on the wind. “Mom, it’s July. And he is his own personal space heater. And if something decides to bite him on the ass, it’s his own damn fault.”

Reece joins me in the laughter now, though tacks on a grunt before muttering, “Can’t help it if I have a bitable ass, can I?”

“Mmmm.” I fit myself to his side, reaching beneath the blanket to cop a generous feel. Damn. The man does possess a very nice ass. “Seems delectable to me.” So fine. So firm. So—

“Do not tempt me, woman.” He grabs my hand and then threads my fingers with his. “Yet.” He qualifies it with a wink—earning him my sultry pout.

“All right, all right,” I concede. “You win, Mr. Richards.”

“I usually do, Miss Crist.”

“Bet you’re glad that hasn’t changed now.”

He doesn’t respond for a long beat. But with low sagacity, he finally murmurs, “Aha.”

“Oh, dear.” I release the mutter as he plunks down in a small patch of wild clover. A tall sage bush flanks the area on one side while an olive tree stretches overhead from the other. “Why am I already dreading the subtext of that?”

“No subtext, Bunny.” He somehow spreads the blanket to make room for me and opens the flap to beckon me in next to him. “That’s exactly what it means.”

“Which is what?”

I make the requisition with a quiet but watchful gaze. Somehow, this feels like the most important conversation of our relationship—and there have been a lot of important ones over the last twelve months. The night he first revealed himself to me as Bolt. The day we conceived Richards Reaches Out together. The new understandings after New York. Our fight, and then unforgettable night of making up, in Paris. The hours after he went globally public about the Consortium.

All such significant moments…

All of which I’d gone into—and come out of—as a normal woman. Okay, so “normal” means something different in this man’s world, though enlightening him about that is like telling a fireman he’s got a bit of ash on his shoulder.

“Hmmm. Forget I asked that.” I pull back by a few inches, realizing we probably both need the room—but especially me as I regroup thoughts. Oddly, the blackness of the view before us is a help. Far away, I can hear the crash of the sea upon the shore. Closer in, it’s the shoosh of the wind through the grasses and its haunting echo back through the canyon. All around me, signs and proof of life and power, though I can’t see them. It’s the same with the force now churning inside me. It’s invisible right now, but I already see it.

I already know it.

Part of me now. Defining me.

But how does it change us?

Ding, ding, ding. And there, kids, is the million-dollar question of the night.