Free From the Shadows (A Shadow Chronicles Novel) by Christina Moore Page B

the bed I slept in wasn’t mine.”
    Race shook his head and ducked back into the bathroom. I left him to his shaving and walked out into the kitchenette, opening the refrigerator with the intention of raiding it —I was starving. I surveyed the contents of his fridge for a long moment, then the freezer, before turning to inspect his cabinets. I could hardly believe it, but I was so hungry I couldn’t think of what to eat—and it wasn’t as if he didn’t have food, as the contents of the fridge indicated he’d gone grocery shopping within the last couple of days. I just didn’t know where to start.
    I was once again contemplating the offerings in the refrigerator when Race appeared, clad in a fitted gray t-shirt and jeans. His still-wet hair looked like he’d just run his fingers through it, and come to think of it, I couldn’t recall seeing a comb on the sink.
    “What do you think, beard or clean-shaven?” he asked.
    I tilted my head to the side as I studied his smooth jaw, then said, “I admit that I like this better, but I don’t mind a little scruff now and then.”
    “Cool. Means I won’t have to shave every day,” Race replied, stepping into the kitchen. “And hey, you’re a guest here—a very special guest—so leave breakfast to me.”
    I raised my eyebrow. He’d gone to make breakfast a while ago and hadn’t quite made it that far. He must have guessed what I was thinking because he laughed as he stepped toward me. “Next time, if you don’t want breakfast to be late, don’t get naked until after you’ve eaten,” he quipped lightly, kissing the tip of my nose before taking my arm and drawing me away from the fridge. I allowed him to shoo me out of the kitchen and I sat in one of the chairs at his small dining table, a smirk on my face as I looked back at him.
    “You’re assuming there will be a next time, pretty boy,” I said lightly.
    Clearly he misunderstood the intent of my words, as he looked at me sharply, a cloud of concern in his eyes. “Jules, you don’t regret what we did, do you?”
    I stood and walked back to him. “No, of course not!” I said, taking one of his hands and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I was kidding, honest. Race, even if there wasn’t the imprinting bond between us, I don’t think I could ever regret having given myself to you. I appreciate more than words can say that you’re thinking of my comfort with intimacy after being attacked like I was. That says a lot to me about the kind of man you are. But honey, you showed me such tenderness, such concern for that comfort that you did one of the best things you could have done for me—you reminded me of how it should be, how there should always be a choice. That’s not to say that it’ll be that easy between us every time—like I told you, I’m aware that I’ve still got a ways to go before I’m as fully recovered as a person can be after something like that. But you were so good to me that I am no longer afraid of the possibility of being intimate. And regret? The thought never crossed my mind.”
    Race nodded slowly. “Okay. I just… Like I said before, I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for. We just met again after nearly twenty years, and you were… If I ever make a move that you’re not comfortable with…”
    I silenced him by touching a finger to his lips. “Trust me, you’ll be the first to know. Please don’t worry. I’m good with what happened in the shower. Not just because the bond drove us to it, but because you’re damn sexy and I wanted you. My wanting you at all was further proof that I’m on the mend, okay? But if you keep worrying over whether or not touching me or kissing me or wanting to make love to me is okay, it’s probably just gonna piss me off. I mean, I left home to get away from excessive concern for my well-being. The last person I want it from is you.”
    Finally he relaxed. “Alright, I’ve been duly warned. Note to self: Keep your concern