“Pro…ductive…ly?” I whisper.
“By reminding ourselves we’re alive even though we’d probably have been sleeping together like that for hours. It’s proof to challenge your mind. That’s what we’ve been collecting for the past week, isn’t it? Proof. Proof that challenges the beliefs that have been chaining you up for years. Practice sayingnoto the compulsions.”
I…
My body thumps. In beat with the heart in my ears. A shiver rocks me. Powerful, consuming, endless.
Cramming my lips together, I hold onto my tongue as I stare at Malcolm. Malcolm Swallow. The man I have hated. The man I have tried to murder. The only person in the world I think I…trust.
It could be a trap.
It could all be a trap.
He could want to build me up to this all-encompassing feeling then watch what happens when he shatters it…but…
“Don’t…” he murmurs, facing me again while I shove and fight and stuff whatever is taking over down, down, dow— “Don’t,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t stop those emotions. Let yourself feel them.”
If I do, I’m almost completely positive I willdie.
“Azalea…” he says, smirk rising and tone taunting. “I believe I gave you a command, darling. Don’t resist me now.”
He’s just so…
I swallow—hard.
…insufferable.
Red blisters my skin, flushing in my cheeks, swarming my head, burning my ears. The unknown feelings race, overwhelming in their assertion.
Low, Malcolm swears, flexes his fingers, traps them in his pajama pant pockets. “That’s it. Good girl. Let the emotions take over.”
Hearingthatis the last thing I need at the moment. Shakily, I support myself on the bathroom counter and try to scrub the heat off my face with the back of my quivering hand. “What…is going on?”
“Oh, I couldn’t tell you,” he lies, looking ceilingward. His eyes linger up there for a moment, then slip back down to me. “It’s just… Well.” Warmth touches him. “What was that you were telling me once about how you’re eithernothingortoo much? Would that, by chance, refer to how you feel things?” Evil, wicked, horrible, no good Malcolm dips his chin forward, regarding me with far too much confidence. “What do you think you’re feeling right now as you’re very seriously about to join your husband in bed for the first time, realizing that he cares about you in a way that surpasses everything else?”
I whimper.
“Say it for me. And this time, darling dove…you can mean it.”
“N-no.”
His brows lift. “No?”
“I’ll say it when I feel like it.” When it’scorrect. When I’m not about to explode.
Laughing, he smiles and stalks toward me, one terrible step at a time. “Fair enough. That’s also what I do.” Not touching me, he leans near my ear. “Which is why I say it so often.”
Now he’s just being mean. But.
That’s Malcolm.
Cruel, cruel, rotten, horrible Malcolm.
Voice raw, I say, “How do you expect me to sleep like this? Whenyou’rebeing likethis?”
He mutters a curse. “You’re cute.”
“Not helping,” I hiss.
