21
When I woke up again, Killian and I were on the floor, though our positions hadn’t changed much—his arms were still around me, my head on his shoulder, and my legs over his.
I lifted my head and looked at him—at the hard line of his jaw and chin, at his high cheekbones, his straight nose, his long lashes, and thick eyebrows. And the small bruises marring his otherwise smooth skin. He was so, so handsome, it hurt to stare at him for so long.
“You’ll bore a hole in me,” Killian whispered.
I punched his side and he groaned. “Oh s**t, I’m sorry.” I gently pressed my hand where I had punched him. For a moment there, I had forgotten he was still hurt.
“It’s okay.” He looked at me. “I’m fine, really.”
I frowned as something occurred to me. “Where’s your box?”
“Safely hidden near the inn
