Meeting me halfway, he stopped to check me over, but I didn’t keep that distance. My body slammed into his as I buried my face in his chest. After a long moment, his arms wrapped around me, warmed from the fire and smelling like smoke and musk and him.

We stood like that for a few seconds. A handful of minutes. Hours. I wasn’t sure.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, cutting through the silence as his hands ran along my back.

I thought he’d order me to go inside.

I worried he would.

But he didn’t.

Keeping me in his hold, he shuffled us back until we were at the large patio couch. He used his foot to hook the leg and drag it closer to the fire before lowering me to sit. When he sat, he did it at the far end.

So I moved closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Pulling my legs up, I plastered my side to his.

And then I breathed.

Ward reached over and stubbed out his smoke.

“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Yeah, I do.”

I didn’t argue. I stared into the flames, leaning into his body heat. His grounding presence. Him.

It took longer that time, but he eventually wrapped an arm around my shoulder. Just as quick, his hold was gone, and he shifted to stand.

My heart skyrocketed, and I shot my hands out to clutch at him.

“Getting you a coat,” he said.

I didn’t know how to explain it. How to tell him I didn’t want him to leave, even for a few seconds. I didn’t even understand it, so how could I explain it?

When I didn’t release my death grip, Ward unzipped his hoodie and opened it, not dislodging my hold. He leaned forward to remove it.

I didn’t give him the chance.

Like a clinging spider monkey—or a weirdo who’d lost her mind—I moved into the crook of his spread arm.

He settled for trying to wrap the fabric around me as he pulled me tighter to him. When half my body was still outside the hoodie, he suddenly gripped my hips. He pulled me onto him, positioning me so my ass was on one thigh and my feet were on his opposite knee with my legs still bent. He didn’t say anything as he wrapped both sides of the sweatshirt around me.

I was sure my ass dug in. I was sure I wasn’t exactly as light as a feather. I was sure he’d been having a good time by himself, smoking a joint and drinking the amber liquid in the glass next to his ashtray.

But I didn’t offer to move or leave.

I didn’t even speak because I didn’t trust myself not to spew every last thought that ricocheted around in my head.