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“Come on.” I urged Zaq forward.
He swayed and tripped over his feet. I swung around and caught him just in time. We ended up facing each other, my hands gripping his torso.
“Hey.” I gave him a shake. “Stay with me.”
He scrunched his face like a pissed-off but sleepy kid. Then he focused on me.
“Reaper.” My name came out low and bedroom-husky.
The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to glow. His hands were on my shoulders—to help him keep his balance. I knew that was the only reason he was touching me, but we were so close, gazing into each other’s eyes like we were about to kiss…
His new T-shirt was damp with sweat. He should’ve smelled bad after all those days in the cell, but he didn’t. He smelled good. Not as good as that morning at the airport, and his scent had a metallic undertone from the silver poison, but still good. Dark and spicy, like the cypress.
My spine melted, along with another weak, mindless body part lower down. I stiffened my vertebrae and ordered the other, lower part to stop being such a pushover. This was not an embrace—far from it, in fact—even if I was breathing the man in like a drug I couldn’t get enough of.
“You—” My voice had developed an embarrassing bullfrog croak. I cleared my throat and tried again.