Stolen By The Vampire King by Roxie Ray
Leia
Istood on the balcony outside my room, looking out over Nicolas’s driveway, my arms wrapped around my waist. Nicolas stood like a sentry at the wall behind me. He’d been that way for days, a silent witness to everything I did, but his presence comforted me.
He didn’t try to make me speak, and he didn’t pepper my day with useless conversation. He seemed to understand when I flinched at the smallest of noises or when I resisted leaving the room, and he didn’t make me do more than I was ready for.
As a car approached along the road, still far enough away that it was a silver blur as the sunlight reflected from it, I retreated into the bedroom and Nicolas tugged the curtains closed after he stepped inside. Then he turned on the lamps, allowing a soft glow to permeate the room before taking a seat on one of the armchairs.
I usually confined myself to the bed, but I sat across from him today, tucking my feet underneath me. He looked at me, his eyes wide, his gaze startled.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice rough because I’d barely used it the past few days.
Nicolas had anticipated my every need—turning on the shower before I announced I was about to take one, bringing Chef’s hot chocolate when I craved the comfort of excessive whipped cream and marshmallows, and tucking me in when he thought I’d already fallen asleep.
Each night, I deliberately stayed awake to experience the care of him drawing the comforter to my chin and stroking his hand over my hair so gently he might have actually been an angel rather than the vampire I knew him to be.
He hadn’t asked me for anything, but since I’d returned to his home, he’d given me everything.
Space to process.
Freedom to be quiet.
Safety so I didn’t need to worry.
“For what?” His voice startled me, even though I’d spoken to him before becoming lost in my thoughts.
“For finding me. I think…” I swallowed. “I think you saved my life.” I’d considered my time with Francois since I’d returned to Nicolas’s home, Vitam Immortalem, and I couldn’t see how I would have survived if Nicolas hadn’t rescued me. I shrugged. “Maybe Francois would have allowed me to exist, but would I really have been alive? Locked away from the world? Subject to his whims? Forgotten by everyone?”
“Never forgotten.” Nicolas spoke in a hoarse whisper then cleared his throat, his face tense, anguish in the depths of his eyes. He clasped his hands and tightened them until his knuckles whitened, like he was seeking to control something I had no knowledge of. “It was my fault. It was my fault, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make it up to you, if you’ll ever forgive me… If you’ll ever trust me again.”
I almost laughed at his words.
He couldn’t have been farther from the truth. If anything, I trusted him more now. He’d rescued me and asked for nothing in return. Not my blood, not my body, not a single promise of anything between us.
There’s been no mention of the contract. Nothing.
All he’d done was care.
Care. Nicolas Dupont had cared for me.
And I cared for him.
“La Petite Mort…”
His jaw tightened as the words left my lips, and his pupils dilated.
“Your casino… Do you need to go there?”
He laughed and looked away for a moment. “I’m certain it’s still standing.” He leaned forward a little. “Dens of inequity rarely fall. To be honest, it almost runs itself.” Then he waved a hand. “That, and Ben requires very little sleep.”
I laughed, the sound soft, and Nicolas smiled in response.
“It’s good to hear you laugh.”
I glanced off to the tightly closed drapes. “I guess I’ve been processing. I’ve had a lot to think about.”
“I know. And you don’t ever have to tell me about any of it, but I’m available to listen if you ever want to talk.” He shook his head, pain flitting over his face, his mouth a grimace of frustration. “I never should have taken you to The Neutral Zone. I just… I…” He gave a dark chuckle. “Would you believe I was trying to keep you safe at my side?”
“Yes.” My answer was short and automatic because I did believe that. Above anything else, I believed Nicolas would have tried to keep me safe.
His eyes widened like I’d surprised him but he nodded again. “I thought if you were at my side, people would know not to harm you. I thought I could control things—everything. And I thought I could do a deal with Francois to buy us some time—”
“How long did you want to buy?” There were still things about this situation I didn’t understand.
He closed his eyes. A long blink. A pause. Like he was considering whether to say the next part or not. Then he blew out a breath. “A month.”
“You only wanted to protect me for a month?”
He nodded, but remorse played around his mouth, stealing some of his usual confidence. “That’s what I told Francois, anyway. But it was a lie. I lied to myself, even. I want to protect you forever, and I can’t stand that I failed you. I almost… Francois could have—”
I stood then knelt at the side of him, my chin almost resting on his thigh. “But you didn’t. He didn’t. I’m right here.”
“But I don’t understand. I don’t understand why he didn’t…hurt you.” Nicolas’s voice faded away on those last two words.
I shrugged. “Sometimes he was more predictable than others, more logical.”
“That doesn’t make him any less dangerous.” Nicolas fidgeted, picking at loose threads only he could see on the arm of the chair.
I captured his hand in mine and he exhaled a soft gasp at the contact.
“And you couldn’t have predicted that danger. I don’t blame you, Nicolas Dupont, so stop blaming yourself.” I pressed his hand to my cheek, basking in the connection between us.
His eyes softened, the gray becoming almost liquid, swirling like mercury. “I’ll try.” Then he shifted, not quite drawing away. “I need to talk to Chef, see what he has on the menu for you this evening.”
“I’m sure it will be lovely, whatever it is.” I let his hand go so he could reach for his phone, reluctance slowing my movements.
But before he drew away completely, he slipped a lock of hair behind my ear and smoothed the rest of my hair from my face, the same gesture he always used when he tucked me in, and a feeling of security surrounded me.
I was truly safe in this house, with this man, and I wasn’t locked in this room. His quiet presence let me know I was free to leave these four walls any time I wanted because he wouldn’t let anything happen.
* * *
Chef delivered our meal personally,although he didn’t come into the room. I hadn’t seen anyone else yet. Just Nicolas because other people felt like too much to handle. There was too much risk to assess, and I couldn’t do everything all at once, so I controlled my environment as best I could, and Nicolas provided that space for me.
“It’s jambalaya,” Nicolas announced as he lifted the lid on a serving platter. “You’ll never have tasted a jambalaya like this one—it’s another of Chef’s specialties. And I hope you’re hungry because either Chef thinks you’re cloning yourself up here or there’s a Hansel and Gretel thing going on that I don’t know about.”
I laughed as I slid into a seat opposite him. “I’m sure I’ll like it very much. Everything Chef makes is amazing.”
We’d slipped into an easy routine of eating together. Well, I ate, and Nicolas took a few token mouthfuls to give the impression he was eating with me, but he got blood bags delivered after I fell asleep most nights. I had a vague memory of seeing him with his cup in his hand one night while he sat next to me, keeping watch.
Standing guard.
Nicolas glanced at his dish and speared a piece of chicken with his fork. Then he held it out to me, his hand cupped beneath it.
I met his gaze. “For me?”
He nodded, his pupils dilating as I opened my mouth and allowed him to place the chicken inside. “Do you like it?”
I chewed and swallowed and nodded. “Yes. It’s very nice.” My voice came out breathy and my heart rate accelerated.
Nicolas’s nostrils flared and he redirected his attention to his plate before gesturing for me to eat.
“Would you like me to draw you a bath? I’ll draw you a bath for a change from the shower.” He stood and walked away before I had chance to reply.
I’d finished my meal before he emerged from the bathroom, wiping soap suds from his bare forearm with a towel.
“Your bath’s ready,” he announced unnecessarily, and I looked at him, enjoying the sheen the humidity of the bathroom had left on him. He met my gaze for a moment then looked away, directing his attention to the wall behind me. “I’ll stand outside the door.”
That statement was also unnecessary. Nicolas always stood outside the bathroom door while I was in there. It was like when he’d asked Jason to guard me.
But different.
More personal.
I stood from my seat and folded my napkin to leave on the table. “Please tell Chef his jambalaya was amazing, and if he keeps feeding me like this, I won’t be able to leave the room because I won’t fit through the door.”
Nicolas laughed. “I’ll get the bedroom ready,” he said, and that meant he’d tidy away our meal, change into pajama pants and a T-shirt, pull an armchair next to the bed so he could sit alongside me, and turn down my comforter ready for me to climb in, because that was what he did every night for me.
I rested my hand on his forearm as I walked by, the brief touch searing my palm. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He nodded in response, the movement stiff and controlled.
When I returned to my room, Nicolas skimmed his gaze over me like he was assessing my well-being before he retreated to his armchair, drawing a knitted blanket over his legs. I climbed into the bed and turned out the light, plunging the room into darkness, then lay perfectly still, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
Nicolas breathed softly at the side of me, and the feeling of safety he generated wrapped me tighter than any comforter.
“Nicolas?”
“Are you all right?” Quiet concern laced his tone, and I basked in the knowledge he’d do anything in his power to ensure my safety and happiness.
“Yes.” I fell silent for a moment. “Are you comfortable?”
He exhaled. “Perfectly. Your well-being is all I need.”
I nibbled my lip as I watched him, a dim shape with eyes that gleamed as they rested on me. “Would you be more comfortable in the bed?”
The sound of his quiet breathing stopped.
“I just don’t think it can be very comfortable for you to keep sleeping in a chair.”
He swallowed then cleared his throat. “I merely rest.”
“Then rest here.” I drew the comforter back on the other side, almost unsure why I was pushing my point, except I craved his proximity with a ferocity I couldn’t explain.
“I…”
“Please, Nicolas.”
“Nic.” He ground out the correction, and the sound of it send a bolt of desire to my core.
“Please, Nic.”
He groaned softly, but didn’t reply as he stood then clutched the blanket in his hands as he walked around the bed and climbed in. I didn’t turn to face him but I wriggled back just until the heat from his body warmed me.
“Can’t you protect me better from here, anyway?” I already sounded drowsy, and I barely felt his light touches against my hair.
“But who will protect you from me?” His voice was so soft I almost thought I imagined it before sleep claimed me.
* * *
When I woke up,Nic was leaning on his elbow, watching me.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” An indulgent grin claimed his mouth, and I stretched, stifling a yawn. “How did you sleep?”
“Great. Like the dead. You?”
His grin widened. “Like the undead.” His gaze turned serious as it drifted to my mouth, and my heart rate picked up as I imagined his lips on mine, but he rolled away, the movement sudden. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, not facing me. “I thought you might like a walk in the grounds this morning? The weather isn’t too hot yet, and some sun and fresh air would be good for you.”
Then he stood and made his way to the bathroom.
I rolled over in bed to lie on my back as I looked at the high ceiling. Nicolas’s home was a true sanctuary, and I was starting to think his heart was too.
I was losing my heart to him, anyway. Maybe that had been inevitable from the start. There had always been something I couldn’t explain, couldn’t define. A pull I’d resisted.
When Nicolas emerged from the bathroom, he headed straight for the closet, where he’d had some of his clothes moved to. His dark suits mostly, because that was all I ever saw him wear.
I took my turn in the bathroom then, afterward, followed his tracks to the closet. He turned as I entered, my towel gathered above my breasts, and I inhaled an extra breath at the sight of him in jeans and a soft gray T-shirt that made me think of his eyes.
“Sorry. I’ll be out of your way in a moment.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Casual suited him. It also added to his vague sense of danger, like the predator was hiding behind a harmless façade.
“I… I asked Romilly to send you some jeans and T-shirts,” he murmured as he referenced the owner of the boutique next to his casino. He gestured to a shelf to his right. “You don’t have to wear anything you don’t like, though.”
I glanced at the clothing he’d indicated, almost amused to find a selection of pastel colors—not an element of red or black in sight.
He retreated to the bedroom to stand guard once more and leave me to dress in probably the most expensive jeans I’d ever touched. They were soft and fit me like they’d been tailor-made.
“Are you ready?” He looked at me expectantly as I joined him the bedroom. “For a walk outside, I mean.”
I took a breath and nodded. “Yeah. I think that would be nice, actually.”
We walked down the stairs, and not even Mr. Baldwin lurked in any of his usual spots. I had no doubt that both he and Mrs. Ames were around somewhere, but neither of them made themselves known. Sounds from the kitchen told me Chef was already at work, and my stomach grumbled in Pavlovian response, but Nicolas only chuckled.
“Breakfast can be our reward for the walk.”
“Knowing how slow I walk, it’ll be beignets for brunch.” I cast a last longing look in the direction of the kitchen, but Nicolas led me farther back into his house, and we emerged from a door I hadn’t seen before.
We stood on a small, cobblestone patio area, where the branches of four trees had been trained into an old, living awning. A creeper with delicate flowers grew up the trunks, and wires hinted at fairy lights that would turn the space magical at night. An elegant wrought iron bistro table and chairs sat underneath.
“For brunch,” Nicolas murmured, his mouth much closer than I expected, and a delicious shiver of anticipation skittered across my skin.
I almost took his hand as he started walking, following a path that wound effortlessly and easily around large bushes of flowering swamp azalea and trees with deep green foliage, but I didn’t dare touch him. The idea of rejection played heavily on my mind. After all, he’d rested alongside me all night without so much as an accidental stroke across my skin or a kiss.
The air in Nicolas’s gardens was perfumed with citrus, and I inhaled appreciatively. “Everywhere smells like something I could eat.”
He glanced back, his lips quirking. “I don’t think I have any beignet trees yet.”
“But citrus?”
He reached up and tugged a leaf from a branch, crushing it in his hand before holding it out to me. “Yes, but the trees aren’t fruiting yet. Nothing to eat, but the scent permeates even the leaves. I think Chef uses them in his cooking sometimes.”
My stomach grumbled at another mention of Chef, and Nicolas laughed. Then he reached for my hand, hesitating before he took it, his gaze on me as I slipped my fingers into his. Relief relaxed his face, and his hold tightened on me.
“Come on, I’ll show you which trees are in fruit right now.” He led me down more unstructured paths, some of them gravel, some of them stone, and we passed various nooks with hidden benches or statues that watched us with blank-eyed stares.
The smell of rich, damp vegetation surrounded us, and the sunlight filtered through a canopy of green leaves to fall in thin shafts and dappled spots on the grass.
“It’s like a sanctuary,” I murmured. “Like we’re not even in civilization anymore. An Eden.”
He laughed. “Well, just in time, then. I give you the—” He gestured with a flourish. “Fig tree. Suitable for all your hunger and clothing needs.”
I glanced up at the mix of green and dusky purple fruits, and Nicolas broke one of the purple ones from its branch.
“The humble fig,” he murmured as he split it open, exposing the seeds in the middle. “Revered by the Ancient Greeks as a symbol of fertility and love.” He offered the fig to me, and I leaned forward, taking a bite from it as he held it between his fingers.
Some of the seeds spilled down my chin and he caught them on his thumb before pressing them between his lips.
“Also an aphrodisiac, of course.” His gaze lingered on mine as he spoke, and I took a second bite of the fig he held, my challenge silent.
And he met that challenge. I almost had to avert my eyes as he held one of the fruit halves to his mouth and curled his tongue expertly around the seeds, drawing them into his mouth before licking the juices quickly from his lips. My groan stayed in my chest, but my knees almost weakened and gave me away.
“We should take some back for brunch.” I couldn’t bear to stand here and watch him consume figs in such an arousing manner.
“If you like.” The light of challenge flickered in his eyes, but his voice was rougher than usual as he handed me several of the fruits to carry and took more for himself.
Then he paused, his fruit dropping to the ground, and he looked at me, his eyes suddenly a dull red. “Forgive me,” he murmured as he stepped toward me.
“Nic.” His name was a whisper on my lips, my own figs forgotten and discarded on the lawn as he pressed me to the trunk of a tree, his hands in my hair, his sticky lips on mine, my mouth opening to the gentle invasion of his tongue.
He groaned against me as his chest pressed against my breasts, the hard length of his erection against my hip.
“Leia.” He murmured my name as he teased kisses along the edge my jaw, one of his hands on my hip now, his thumb teasing the skin under the hem of my T-shirt.
I thrust my hands into his hair, tugging the silky strands between my fingers.
“Fuck, Leia.” He drew away, his breathing heavy, conflict in his eyes. “We should stop.”
“Why?” I flicked open the button on my jeans, and his eyes widened as I slipped them down my thighs. “Didn’t you once tell me your claim on me would protect me from other vampires?” I tried to appeal to some of his other instincts. Maybe the only ones he’d listen to.
But he shook his head, his eyes wild. “Don’t come to me like that. Don’t offer yourself for protection.” His words were a plea. “I’ll always protect you. Regardless of…” He swallowed. “Regardless of anything else.”
I reached for his hand and pressed his palm to my breast, my nipple hardening immediately beneath his touch. “And what if I just want you?”
My mouth dried at my declaration. It left me more vulnerable than I’d ever been in my life. I was a twenty-nine-year-old virgin standing in front of a vampire with more life experience than I could realistically imagine, and he made my blood rush hot through my veins and my whole body thrum with desire.
“I want you, Nic,” I whispered.
He kissed me again, moving before I even saw him, his mouth commanding, his breath hot as his tongue probed against mine. I moaned, and he started to rock his hips against me as his left hand cupped my right thigh, under my ass. His fingers kneaded my skin, and I pressed wantonly against him.
“Never before,” he whispered as he licked along my jaw and kissed down my neck. “Only you.”
His palm smoothed the skin under my T-shirt, and I held my breath as fingertips grazed my ribcage, wanting more, so much more.
“Touch me, Nic. Please touch me.” My words seemed to release whatever was holding him back, and he tugged my T-shirt off, then his own, revealing the defined muscles of his torso and the tattoo that had teased my attention before. A fleur-de-lis. A family crest, maybe, and words in Latin. Ego Solus.
I itched to trace it with my fingers, to tease each delicate line with my tongue, but his hand covered my breast, his fingers curling under the fabric of my bra and grazing my nipple and I gasped, my forehead falling against his shoulder, where I pressed fervent kisses to his skin.
My hands behaved like they were no longer under my control. Touching him anywhere they could reach and sliding along his waistband, dipping below to stroke over his bare ass, and I laughed at the unexpected discovery.
“Commando, Mr. Dupont?”
“Nic.” The word was a growl as he reached behind me, unhooking my bra, and for a moment, fear whispered through me as my total vulnerability became apparent.
As if he’d heard my errant thought, Nic took my hand and led me to the shady lawn, laying me on the mix of grass and springy moss there, and he half covered my body with his as he peppered kisses over my face, shielding me and covering me and hiding me.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “And we’re all alone. I won’t ever share you. Not like this.” He pressed wet kisses to my neck. “I’ll worship you.” Then to my collarbone. “Revere you.” The swell of my breast. “Respect you.” He drew my bra away. “Love you.”
He sucked my nipple into his mouth, and I cried out as I arched against him, the shower of heat in my body stealing my ability to think. My hands were in his hair again, and his right hand drew patterns on my left thigh.
I parted my legs in age-old invitation my body already knew how to make. I’d never wanted this deeply, this completely—like Nic was something I’d always been missing. Like he’d come home. We were home.
When he raised his head to look at me, his eyes glowed a dull red again. “You smell amazing. I want you so badly. Like nothing ever before.”
“Touch me,” I told him again. “Please touch me.”
My panties were gone before I could even shimmy them away, and Nic’s dark chuckle filled my ears. “You’ll be commando now, too.”
His skillful fingers delved carefully between my legs, and memories of the same touch in the back of his limo flooded my mind. I gripped his shoulders and pressed my hips up toward him as he stroked across my clit.
“Nic.” His name was mere air as it left my lips, but he responded immediately, nudging his fingertip against my entrance. “Please.” I sucked in a breath as he pressed forward, filling me, stretching me. “I want you inside me,” I mumbled, lost to the sensation of his expert touch.
“I want you ready.” His voice was strained again, and his hips rocked against me in a steady rhythm.
“Let me touch you?”
His laugh was hollow this time. “And show myself up like an inexperienced teen?”
I gasped as his thumb flicked my clit as his finger continued to stroke the inside of me.
“Who am I?” he whispered against my ear.
“Nic,” I answered without hesitation as he coaxed me closer to the edge.
“Your Nic,” he replied, his head buried at the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin, his fangs the merest hint of something sharp. “Always yours.”
He worked another finger inside me, and I pressed down automatically to take him, dimly aware of his hand moving at his waist, the sound of a zipper, and my arousal increased.
“Holy fuck,” he moaned. “Your scent would drive lesser men mad.”
“Lose control, Nic. Take me, claim me… I’m yours.” I pushed toward him as he stroked me one last time and my orgasm roared over me, catching me by surprise and stealing my breath.
Nic moved fast, shucking his jeans and drawing himself over me. He gazed into my eyes, the dull red of his flaring brighter. “If you want to stop, just say.”
I shook my head. “No. I want all you, everything. I want it all.” I turned my head, offering him my neck, as I pressed my fingertips there.
His intake of breath commanded my full attention. “Are you certain?”
I nodded. “I’m yours. Always yours.” I echoed his words back to him, and his eyes flared red again before he nodded.
“Mine,” he agreed.
I tensed as the weight of his cock rested briefly against my thigh, and he drew back to stroke the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “You doing okay?”
I nodded, my sudden fear receding at his careful touch.
He probed against me, and I giggled. “So much bigger than a finger.”
He laughed. “God, I hope so.”
He groaned as he began to push inside me, the movement slow as my body stretched around him. I shifted slightly at the unfamiliar invasion.
“Breathe,” he whispered, as he dropped his head against my neck.
“Bite,” I whispered back, and he moaned softly as his fangs scraped over my skin.
“I want to…”
Time hung in the moment, his cock easing inside me, the tips of his fangs resting against my neck, until everything moved again and he was buried inside me, waiting for me to adjust to his size.
“You good?”
“Yes.” The sharp sting of pain receded, and I moved my hips against him, the change of position experimental as I tried to encourage him forward. I felt so full, so connected. Utterly possessed by Nic.
He exhaled softly against me.
“Claim me, Nic.” I was willing. Hell, I was eager. Whatever was more than willing.
He began to move, drawing almost all the way out of me before pushing back in, forcing my breath from me at each reentry.
I hadn’t known what to expect. Hadn’t expected it to be a big deal, and as much as it wasn’t some huge defining moment, it also was. Each thrust connected me more closely to Nic, each draw of breath was primal.
The scent of his skin and the touch of his lips was familiar and welcoming, and made me want to be his.
I wanted to keep him as mine.
His movements increased in speed, but he altered the angle of his hips like he was searching for something. Then he lifted his head and grinned at me, his expression one of satisfaction as I moaned in pleasure. He rubbed against the same spot again, and pleasure was a shower of heated sparks inside me.
I rolled my head to the side, baring my neck, then glanced at him in invitation.
His eyes flared red, and he started to shake his head, but I nodded.
“Please, Nic.” When I used his name, he always reacted. It was as if I’d undone him.
Or used a magic word just for us.
“Leia.” He murmured my name and shook his head again but then he pressed his mouth to my neck, the kiss soft and wet and open-mouthed as his tongue flicked across my skin.
He stilled and I waited. He seemed to wait too. He didn’t even draw breath.
Then a low rumble rippled through his chest, and everything happened at once.
As he drew out of my body and plunged back in, his fangs pierced my skin, and I gasped at the second invasion, at the pain that quickly dimmed then changed to become a wave of euphoria.
Nic’s rhythmic swallowing filled my ears, and he tugged gently on my neck as his hips moved, his cock pushing inward and retreating to the same pulse that thrummed through me.
He sped up, his movements more frantic, his swallowing more uneven, and my muscles tightened before releasing, leaving me hanging in a state of bliss before everything fell away, and Nic groaned as his cock thickened inside me, and his rhythm halted.
He took another couple of long sucks, and lightheadedness crept in, my vision blurring at the edges as I looked up at the leaves above us.
“Nic?” I jostled him a little. “Nic?”
He lifted his head before lapping gently at my neck. “I can seal the bite marks,” he murmured, suddenly intent on his task. When he looked at me, his eyes were dark with concern, his brow furrowed. “Did I take too much?”
“I don’t think so? I mean, I need to eat…” I didn’t feel lightheaded now and my vision had cleared.
“My lady.” He split a fig before he even left my body, and juice and seeds spilled over my chest, running between my breasts. “Oops,” he murmured, his grin wicked, his eyes sparkling. “Looks like I have some clean-up to do.”
He slipped out of me as he changed position, and I winced, the movement small, but he caught it. “You okay?”
I shrugged. “A little tender.”
He pressed his hand gently between my legs, the gesture protective and soothing, as he drew his tongue over my skin, banishing the stickiness of the seeds and juice. Then he fed me the fig halves before lying beside me and entwining his fingers with mine.
“I wish we could stay here all day.” He lifted my hand to his mouth and brushed kisses over my knuckles. “But I promised you brunch.”
“If I’d known sex was that good, I’d have done it before now,” I blurted, still focused on the new sensations filling my body.
He laughed and gathered me to his chest. “I’m very glad you didn’t.”
