“That’s shockingly mature of you.”
His gaze snaps back to mine, all fiery anger and irritation wrapped in green, but his pupils dilate just enough that I catch it.
“Fuck you,” he mutters, taking a step back before he turns fully into his office, slamming the door hard enough to make me jump. Thank god Pen is a heavy sleeper.
I stand there alone for half a second, breathing hard, my thoughts too fast to even properly make out anything useful. My body feels stiff and glued in place, but I force myself to move, force my legs to work one at a time to carry me the few steps to my room opposite the office.
I slam my door, too, just to make a point.
My heart beats so hard that I can feel it like a lump in my throat. I pace back and forth in front of the door, trying to get my thoughts to slow enough that I can actually understand them.
But it’s all just one sentence, stuck in my head and replaying on a brutal little loop.
Maybe I don’t know what to do with you when you act like every other man gets the easy version and I get the one that looks like she’s bracing for impact.
He’s right. Obviously he’s right. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does, because he was throwing the one thing I’m trying to control back in my face like an insult.
I wanted to drag you out of there before one of them tried his luck.
My stomach flips, my cheeks heating as it fully settles. Yes, he was being insane and possessive, but thewhydidn’t fully sink in when he said that.
He was jealous. Violently, irrationally, badly jealous.
Was Zoe right?
I stare at my bedroom door, wondering how tonight would have gone if that argument hadn’t ended with afuck youand a slammed door.
I want to know. I shouldn’t, but god, I want to.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I yank open the door, half prepared to give him my two cents and half not knowing what the hell I’ll say to him.
I stop dead the moment I see him.
He’s standing there across the hall, one hand still on the handle of his office door like he had the exact same idea at the exact same time.
The air between us hangs heavy. I don’t yell, don’t move, don’t know what to say or how to act or what to do when he’s standing there wearing fucking pajamas that fit like they were made forhim, when he looks so damn attractive that I can’t fault myself for having a crush on him for four years, when he’s looking at me likethat.
There’s at least five feet of space between us, but I can see the slight adjustment to his gaze, the way it drops to my lips as he exhales.
I open my mouth. “What the fuck are we?—”
He lets go of the handle, crosses the hall in three quick strides, and cups my face in the same second that his mouth meets mine.
There’s shockingly no anger in it this time, but he comes at me with enough force to make me stumble back half a step into my room. His body follows mine, his free hand sliding around the back of my waist to, what I can only imagine, keep me from pulling away for a third time.
He kicks the door shut behind him without looking.My back hits the wall, hard enough to make me gasp against his lips. He takes the opportunity and deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding against mine, a hint of the wine he’d had with dinner still lingering in his mouth.
I should tell him to stop, I should ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I break the kiss just enough to speak, but he moves, his mouth dropping to my jaw, my neck, his lips and teeth and tongue hitting every damn sensitive spot like he already knows where they are.
“You don’t get to kiss me like this and then act like it didn’t happen again,” I rasp, letting my head fall back against the wall, my throat bared to him.
His hand tightens at my waist. “I know,” he murmurs against my neck.
It’s the first straightforward thing he’s said to me all night.
It lands harder than it should.
