Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(181)

His body rocked back when hers hit his. But when it did, he locked his arms around her, hers curved around his shoulders and she shoved her face in his neck.

“I was rather hoping once you ceased standing across the bloody room and came to where you belonged, you’d press your mouth somewhere else,” he muttered irritably.

Her body shook in his arms for several seconds before her laughter became audible.

Still laughing, she pulled her face out of his neck, rolled up on her toes and pressed her closed lips hard against his.

That was better.

It didn’t remain that way for she almost instantly pulled away.

“Does that work?” she asked, her eyes still bright with unshed tears but those tears were going nowhere. He knew this because behind the wet was the light of amusement.

He missed that light.

And he was immensely pleased to have it back.

“Barely,” he drawled in answer.

The amusement in her eyes flared then slowly died but only so the skin around her mouth could soften as her eyes roamed his face.

They found his and his breath stuck in his throat at what he saw as she whispered, “So this is what it feels like not to be broken.”

Bloody hell.

His arms around her convulsed but for the life of him, he couldn’t get his mouth to move in answer.

She didn’t need it.

She had something else to say.

And that was, “Love you, Lo.”

Suddenly, Apollo was done talking.

So he stopped them doing it.

But how he did that, he used his mouth.

And in return, his Maddie used hers.

* * * * *

The room dark, the weight of Maddie’s soft warm na**d body resting on him, her knees high at his sides, her forehead in his throat, her fingers trailing lazily along his shoulder, when he thought she was near sleep and was looking forward to the same with his dove held close, he felt her move.

No.

He felt her shake.

“Madeleine?”

She started shaking more.

His arms, already around her, tightened as he lifted his head in an attempt to peer at her through the dark. This attempt failed. All he could see were the poppy highlights in her auburn hair sparkling in the firelight.

“Maddie,” he said more sharply.

She tilted her head and shoved her face in the side of his neck, her body shaking harder.

He thought she was weeping and could not imagine why when a delicate snort filled the room and she shook even harder.

That snort was not from weeping.

It was from laughing.

He rolled her to her back, mostly covering her, and lifted his head to look down at her just as her laughter became audible.

She clutched at him as it did, giggling uncontrollably.

“What is funny?” he demanded to know.

She kept laughing, and also shaking, and further snorting, but she didn’t speak

“Madeleine,”—he gave her a squeeze—“what is funny?”

She pulled her face out of his neck and, still laughing, stammered, “I…you…I was…”

Then she shoved her face back into his neck, clutched him tighter, and burst into renewed laughter.

He waited.

This took some time.

Finally, her laughter began to wane and he said, “Now, would you please share your amusement?”

She dropped her head to the bed, but did this still holding onto him, and found his eyes in the dark.

“You know,” she began, “since practically the minute this started between us, I felt shit because of all the things you were giving me.”

He found this alarming but had no chance to remark on it.

She lifted her head slightly from the pillow and slid her hand to his jaw.

“I like nice things, Apollo.”

She said this like it was an admission when he knew not one soul who didn’t.

Thus he replied, “I do as well, Madeleine. Everyone does.”

He felt her body stiffen slightly under his and he knew that thought had not occurred to her.

When she said nothing, he prompted, “And this caused your hilarity?”

“No. I mean, yes…I mean, not entirely. Why I was laughing is that you were giving me so much. Nice clothes. A lovely home. Friends.” She paused, sweeping his lower lip with her thumb, before she whispered, “Élan. You.”

He felt his gut warm but she was not finished.

“And now I get that that’s how it is, if people care about each other. There are lots of ways to give.”

His voice was gruff when he agreed, “There are.”

She slid her hand back into his hair in order to pull his face closer to hers as she continued to explain. “Why I was laughing, sweetheart, is that today, you gave me something else.”

“And what I gave you was funny?” he inquired.

“Yes,” she replied.

“And what was that?”

He felt her body soften under his as she tensed her hand at his head and brought him ever nearer.

And her voice was teasing, yet husky, when she answered, “Oh, nothing big. Not like a really nice cloak or a kickass dress.” Her voice dipped low. “Just your love and, well…me.”

The warmth in his gut increased as he slid his hand up her side and queried, “You?”