Page 42 of Malice

She slips from the bed, gloriously naked, and I have to resist reaching for her again. She catches me looking and smiles that knowing, slightly wicked smile that makes my blood race.

“Later,” she promises, reading my thoughts with uncanny precision.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, watching her disappear into the bathroom.

The shower starts, a dull pounding that only makes the quiet in the rest of the house feel heavier. I’m sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling like a dumbass, chest tight with something I’ve been swallowing since she waltzed in last night. It’s nuts, ballsy, and I can’t shake it.

I drag my ass off the mattress, fingers raking through my hair as the steam rolls from under the bathroom door. I can see her in my head, soap and heat sliding over skin that I know like my own goddamn heartbeat. My body’s betraying me, screaming for her, but I slam the door on that thought. She’s got a shift, and I’ve got shit to sort.

But fuck, the thought hangs in the air like smoke. It’s tangled with the sight of her cozy next to me this morning, hair splayed across my pillow like she’d been there a hundred times before. The idea clamps down hard as I stumble into the kitchen, grabbing mugs, finding some kind of rhythm in the mundane act of making coffee while my mind spirals.

She belongs here. Not just for burning nights that leave us breathless and spent. Here, in this house, in my life. A life that’s felt like empty, echoing corridors since I bought the place.

When she finally steps into the kitchen, the air shifts. She’s scrubbed clean, hair damp, fresh from the shower, and so fucking beautiful it knocks the air from my lungs. My chest tightens with something I can’t even name.

“Hey,” she murmurs, taking the mug I shove toward her.

“Hey yourself.” I prop against the counter, watching her eyes flutter as she sips, soaking up every second. “Trix?”

“Mmm?” she hums, eyes still closed.

I take a breath, let it out slowly, feeling my pulse jump in my throat. “Move in with me.”

She stops dead, mug hovering, eyes snapping open wide. It’s like a fucking storm hits her face—shock, panic, and a flicker of something like hope.

“Carter.” Her voice is careful, as if she’s trying not to spook a wild animal. “This is a huge step. We only just made this official.”

“Three days,” I shoot back, my grin feeling too damn big. “If you count last night.”

She lets out a breath, rubbing her temples. “You can’t just— People don’t move in together after a couple nights.”

“I’m not people.” I close the distance between us, feeling the heat from her body, electricity sparking in the inches between us. “It’s not just last night. It’s all the nights I watched you walk out the door and wished like hell you didn’t.”

Her throat works around a swallow, eyes questioning my sanity, and maybe she should. I lost it that day I first saw her, fierce and fiery at nineteen, or bloody and defiant in that barn, refusing to break.

“You’re dead serious,” she says, not a question.

“Yeah.” I catch her hands, pulling them away from her face where they’re rubbing worry lines. “This place is a fucking tomb. Six bedrooms, half of ’em wasting space. You’d have your own room, a bathroom, whatever the hell you want.”

Silence stretches, her fingers tight around mine, her jaw working like she’s chewing over something she can’t quite swallow. But she doesn’t say no, and that’s a hell of a start.

“Think on it,” I mutter, dropping a kiss on her forehead, lingering in her scent. “No rush. Just consider.”

“I will,” she says, voice careful, like she’s weighing every damned thing. “But I gotta go.”

The drive to the hospital is silent with her hand in mine. At the entrance, she turns, eyes a mess of warmth and wariness and a touch of fear.

“We’ll talk tonight,” she decides. Not a no, but not a yes, either.

“Tonight.” I nod, watching until she’s swallowed by the sliding doors and the chaos beyond.

As soon as she’s gone, I make the call. The phone rings twice before he answers. “What’s wrong?” My brother Eli’s voice.

“Nothing’s wrong. I need your help,” I say, tapping the steering wheel. “How soon can you get to my place?”

There’s a pause. “I’m five minutes out. Why?”

“Just get here.” I glance at where Trix vanished moments ago. “I need help with something big. Can you both get here in a few hours?”