“We should –”
His hand came up, fingers curling around her breast, thumb gliding across her nipple.
She fell silent and a delicious tremble slid through her body.
“Elle. Sleep,” he ordered, pressing deeper into her.
She supposed they could talk tomorrow.
Or maybe she’d write him another note.
After she packed her bags, of course.
On that sad thought, she said, “Okay.”
His fingers tensed at her breast.
She let out a sigh.
Surprisingly, within minutes, she fell dead asleep.
No bad dreams. No turbulent thoughts. No tossing. No turning.
Just blissful, healing, beautiful sleep.
* * * * *
Prentice
Prentice woke before Elle and carefully disengaged from the dead weight of her sleeping body.
He pulled on his jeans, walked to the travel alarm on her nightstand, studied it, discovered how to turn it off and did so.
He put the clock back in its place, stood beside the bed and for long moments he watched her sleep.
Then he looked around the room.
Nothing untidy, nothing out of place, her jars and bottles arranged just so on the nightstand. Four journals perfectly stacked, precisely positioned.
He looked back at her, her face relaxed in sleep and he realized for twenty years he hadn’t seen her face looking like that.
Relaxed.
At-ease.
Determinedly, he set aside the thoughts that wanted to intrude in his brain.
Thoughts of Elle standing removed from the Annie and Mikey reunion when he’d first seen her after she came back.
Thoughts of Elle staring into the pasta as she stirred it when Mikey explained how she’d taken Annie’s abuse and patiently forced her friend to heal.
Thoughts of Elle clenching her fists tightly when she became anxious.
Thoughts of Elle on her hands and knees after her father struck her.
Thoughts of Elle lying on the couch last night, her body trembling violently, the terrified noises she made scoring his heart.
Thoughts he’d refused to let himself think, not now, not yesterday, not five days ago and not in the weeks after she got in her rental car and drove away from him without looking back.