Toxic Game (GhostWalkers #15) - Christine Feehan Page 0,101
the bed, her long legs bare, her body naked after her shower, kept creeping into his mind. He signed off quickly and hurried back to her. He half hoped she’d be in bed, just so he could remove the blankets.
Before he opened the door, he knew she was cooking. The aroma coming from inside the house was amazing. Joe had managed to get his hands on chicken, and clearly she was making full use of it. She stood at the stove. “I thought I’d make soup. I wanted something light. I used the chicken again and tons of veggies. Is that all right with you?”
She wore a pair of soft Capri bottoms and a racer-back tank that clung to her every curve. She looked more delicate than ever. For some reason the simple, comfortable outfit enhanced her fragile bone structure and emphasized her firm, defined muscles and soft skin.
He went right to her and leaned down to kiss the nape of her neck, so inviting with her hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot. “That smells wonderful. I’m suddenly starving.”
“Me too.”
There was the smile in her voice that told him she approved of him kissing her. He wrapped his arms around her middle, his fingers threading together just under her breasts, so he could nuzzle her neck. She smelled as delicious as whatever she was cooking, and for a moment he buried his face in that sweet spot between her neck and shoulder and just inhaled.
“Do you have a religious preference?” he asked, his mouth against her skin.
She burst out laughing. “So much for whispering sweet nothings.”
“We have to have a religious ceremony to get married.”
Her hand paused in her task of adding seasoning and she looked back at him. “You can’t be serious, Draden.”
“I absolutely want to marry you. I want us to plan the ceremony and what we’re going to say to each other and then tomorrow, I want to do it.”
She turned back before he could read her expression. Staring down at the soup, she shook her head. “I don’t see how it’s possible.”
“Wyatt said our immune systems are fighting the virus off like crazy, so I know we’ll have the time. We can do it. I know we can.”
“Do you have any idea how special you are, Draden? How extraordinary a man?”
She made him feel as if he were the best man in the world and she’d never be able to see any other—and she most likely wouldn’t.
“I’m going to let you think that, Shylah, because I want you to marry me. And if you knew about the thousands, maybe millions of good men out there who are all so much better than me, you’d run away fast and find someone else.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
Shylah regarded him with that sober look that turned him inside out. She looked cute as hell with her freckles standing out on her face and her eyebrows drawn together.
“Stop staring at me and come eat. The table’s set and dinner is ready. Zara used to fix this recipe, so I know it tastes delicious.”
He took the pot from her and ladled up the soup into the bowls already set on the small table. He lit the candle she’d put there. The storm was long gone, and night was falling, the birds calling to one another one last time and the cicadas and other insects took up the jarring symphony. Frogs took up the chorus, so the surrounding forest was filled with sound.
“What religion are you, Draden?”
She was looking down at her soup, cooling off a spoonful by blowing on it. She still had an appetite and he was grateful for that. Still, he had a sense of urgency. Now, it was important to him that they marry, that she carried his name when she went. That he was there with her to the very end. He liked being her man. No. It was much more than that.
He had always shied away from feelings, preferring to keep himself closed off rather than put himself out there where he could be destroyed emotionally. With Shylah, everything was so different. He could say anything to her. She understood and accepted him even when he told her the worst of himself. He was comfortable with her. She could take care of herself, but he felt protective of her.
“Draden?”
He sent her a grin and then took a bite of the soup to keep from having to answer her question.