Page 55 of Fuse

I lean down farther, pressing my heartbeat tight along his. I want him to feel every steady beat of the blood and air in and out of my chest. To affirm him of my life exactly as I assure him of my love. They’re hand-in-hand for me, and they’ll never be anything different.

I love you.

I need you.

Come what may.

You’ll always be mine, Reece Andrew Richards.

“What?”

His crack of a command has me jerking as sharply as him, causing us to separate whether we want to or not. But not even the leftover heat from his cream, flowing over my mound and inner thighs, deters the bewilderment from my stare. “Huh?” I stammer. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean?” he retorts.

“I…huh?”

“What did you just say, Emmalina?”

“I—” I almost don’t want to respond because I already sense how he won’t like—or perhaps even believe—the answer. “I didn’t say anything, baby.”

Nope. He doesn’t like it.

And he sure as hell doesn’t believe it.

“Shit.”

“Reece?”

He stabs a hand into his hair, confirming my hunch that his distracted blurt is masking a deeper concern. “Shit.”

Okay, scratch concern. Bartender, make that a straight shot of disturbed, please—with a chaser of outright confused for the man’s fiancée, please.

“Reece?” I dig my fingertips into his hairline. “What’s going on?”

With his hand still tangled in his dark waves, he pulls focus from his dazed glare at the ceiling to his blinking gaze at me. “N-Nothing, Bunny.” He shakes his head so hard, it scratches against the pillow. “It’s…nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” I reposition my hand, flattening it along his forehead. It’s as strong and firm and warm as ever but not fever-hot. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe we should wake up Wade and Fersh and have them run some diagn—”

“I’m fine.” He tilts his head back so my fingers are realigned with his bold cheekbone. “I probably just need some sleep.”

“So can I help facilitate that?”

He quirks one side of his mouth. “You just did.” He gathers me against him, nestling my head atop his chest. “And you still are.”

I readjust a little, scooting my ear right over the strong thumping of his heart. Right away a yawn escapes me, and I start wondering who’s really getting the subliminal lullaby here—but I won’t push my luck on that point right now. I have bigger fish to fry with the advantage he’s bounced into my court, so to speak.

“Fine. We’ll sleep.” I roam a hand up and down the twin ladders of his abs—each time, taking my touch more discernibly beneath his navel. “On one condition.”

A taut rumble begins between his lungs. “And why don’t I think it includes another stellar field trip to hell?”

“Because you’d be right.”

“Should I be afraid?”

I expect him to finish that with a grumble but instead get a chuckle, making me feel a little guilty about going for the emo ballad soundtrack again. But I wouldn’t be pushing that play button if this wasn’t damn important. So I push back up a little, planting a hand in the middle of his chest while securing the lock of his full gaze with mine.

“The Emmalina: Handle With Care sticker stays off.” I enforce the order by compressing my lips. “We’re partners, damn it—and from now on, even if I can’t always be on the front lines with you, we stay partners. We’re going to have some bumps in the road, okay—but guess what? All couples have bumps.” And because his laugh already leads me there, I invite a moment of levity into the mix too, seesawing my head with a light laugh. “Our bumps are just a little…different…than most.”