Chapter 395:
He tucked the blanket securely around her, wrapping her in warmth, leaving only her face and damp hair exposed to the firelight.
Then his arms slid around her waist, pulling her close. His chin rested lightly on her head, where her hair was still slightly wet.
“It’s cold tonight. This is the best way to dry your hair,” he said beside her ear, his deep voice low and steady.
Rylie responded softly, her eyes half-closed. The warmth from the fire and the comfort of his embrace eased every muscle in her body, chasing away the last traces of fatigue and alcohol.
She shifted slightly, adjusting herself to fit more snugly in his arms, her head finding its place in the curve of his neck.
The simple motion made Brad’s arms tighten, just a little.
He looked down, watching her quietly. Her long lashes trembled faintly, casting delicate shadows. The firelight played across her skin, outlining her soft, peaceful expression.
She still wore his white shirt, the wide collar slipping slightly off her shoulder. A glimpse of her smooth skin and elegant collarbone caught the flickering light, gleaming faintly like pearls in the fire’s glow.
Brad’s eyes lingered for a moment on Rylie’s bare shoulder. He swallowed, the tension in the air growing thicker.
The only sounds were the soft crackling of firewood and the quiet rhythm of their breathing, weaving together in the stillness.
Slowly, he lifted his hand and adjusted the collar of her shirt. His callused fingers brushed lightly against her cool skin, tracing a path with careful tenderness.
Her skin felt soft beneath his rough touch — warmth meeting silk. A subtle shiver followed his fingertips, delicate but unmistakable.
Rylie’s lashes quivered slightly, but she didn’t move away or open her eyes. Instead, the shiver spread gently from her shoulder down her back.
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Brad’s hand didn’t leave her. He guided the slipping neckline into place, his touch gliding along her smooth shoulder before sliding into her still-damp hair. With quiet care, his fingers began to comb through the strands, slow and steady, massaging her scalp with patient ease.
“Sleeping with wet hair only makes the headache worse,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, almost lulling.
He moved as if handling something fragile — delicate and precious.
“How do you know that?” she asked softly.
“I’ve spent time at sea. Cold wind gets into your head and settles there,” he said, his breath brushing close to her ear.
A wave of comfort flowed through her. The tension in her body slowly unraveled, and the dull ache left by alcohol seemed to dissolve under his touch. She couldn’t help but let out a barely audible moan, her body relaxing further into the warm embrace, her back intimately feeling the rise and fall of his chest and the gradually increasing warmth.
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.
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