In Flames - Elise Faber Page 0,27

on their hands.

The problem was that even though he knew that logically, there was a pulse beating inside him, a constant thrum-thrum that had nothing to do with pumping blood through his body.

With a sigh, he stood, stashing the cushion and blanket away in the basket his sister had snuck into the space not long after he’d finished with the greenery.

How Amelia knew about it in the first place, he didn’t know. It wasn’t surprising because his sister was sneaky as fuck and one of the nosiest people he knew, but he’d kept his side project a secret on purpose.

Yet, she’d found out with enough accuracy to include a blanket, cushion, and basket exactly the right size.

All without a word.

But that was Amelia.

She was thoughtful and sweet, and this wasn’t the first object that had appeared in his sphere.

New towels on the rack in his bathroom.

Warm cookies on his counter.

A new shirt in his closet—which, of course, had accompanied the throwing out of his favorite shirt. The latter had been beyond saving, at least according to his sister. But though he’d complained outrageously, he didn’t mind so much. In truth, it was nice having Amelia do those things for him, especially since it had been ages since his mother had been capable of caring for anything except her own broken heart.

Ever since his father had been killed.

That day had been—

The memories threatened to slide out of that locked box in the back of his brain. The horror of that day. The pain. The blood. Trying desperately to do something when the reality was that it had been too late for anyone to do anything.

Then he was gone, and it had been Graham’s job to pick up the pieces.

And God, Amelia had been just a baby then. Or at least a child. With pigtails and skinned knees . . . and tear-filled blue eyes.

Always sad and sheened with tears.

Eventually, she’d come out of her shell and though there were a few years between her and Suz, they’d ended up becoming close during their secondary magic days. Amelia had been a bit behind, Suz a bit ahead, and they’d . . . met in the middle.

Which was what he needed to do, what he and Suz needed—to find that happy medium, even when his brain and body kept telling him to push, push, to find any way to get her to accept the bond, whether it be bullying, cajoling, or orgasming her into submission.

Patience.

Right.

But he didn’t want to. Cue whining teenaged boy. He wanted her. All of her. Right. Now. He didn’t want patience. He wanted inside her—and not just sexually. The bond was a tender thread in the back of his brain, a taunting, teasing presence that was pressing him to track her down in her rooms.

He wouldn’t, of course.

He was more than a ball of hormones.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, remembering how beautiful she’d been spread out beneath him. How gorgeous and tempting and naked. Which wasn’t really helping his ball problem.

Snorting, he spared one final look at his place and slipped out into the hall.

He placed his hand on the panel to lock the door then headed for his rooms.

Despite all the talk of nakedness and his balls, Graham knew he needed to regroup, needed to come up with a plan to convince Suz to open her heart—even with all that fear bundled inside her.

But first, he thought, pushing through the door to his own room, he needed to get some sleep.

He kicked off his shoes, stripped down, and crawled under the blankets.

A moment later, he let sleep pull him under.

He woke the moment the door to his quarters opened.

Sleep was a heavy weight on his eyes, threatening for a moment to drag his lids down, but he’d been a soldier too long to not be alert.

Still and silent in an instant.

Listening to footsteps come closer.

Then he heard a clunk, paired with a barely audible curse, and he relaxed immediately. Amelia.

Trying to sneak up on him.

Again.

He barely stifled the smile and slitted his eyes, letting them adjust to the dark, listening as she groped her way through the unlit hallway until he saw her emerge in his bedroom.

Then crept toward the bed.

He didn’t move . . . well, his limbs anyway. Because he couldn’t resist moving his lips.

“What are you doing?”

She shrieked, bumped into the corner of the wall, and fell over.

Probably, he should have helped her up.

But he couldn’t—for two reasons. First, it was fucking hilarious to see her