I close my eyes. One little order and Plan A goes out the window. Flynn’s hand falls away as I turn around and sit down on the porch. I press my back against the door, trying to keep as much distance between us as the small wooden deck allows. Not because I’m scared but because I’m quickly realizing I don’t trust myself around him.
Flynn leans back against the railings, nestling in and getting comfy in a way so endearing it has me pressing a smile between my lips. He reminds me of a cat making biscuits with its paws. Head resting against the wood, he turns to look at me. “Is Wright okay?”
I dip my chin, trying not to be softened by the fact that his first thought is to check on my friend. “Thank you for tonight. For coming when I called.”
“Always.” He says it like it’s a vow and I look away, watching a light trail across the sky.
I tap my fingers against my knee. “So, what’s your favorite color?”Plan B: Bore the serial killer with small talk until he goes away.
Flynn rubs a smile off his lips. “I think we’ve probably graduated to medium talk, don’t you think?”
I give him a dry look. I’m not entirely sure what constitutes medium talk but I’m pretty certain the question Flynn goes for dives right into big talk.
“What happened to your parents?”
“What happened to yours?” I shoot back, my defenses kicking in.
“They died in a fire when I was fifteen,” he says, knocking the wind out of me. I hadn’t realized dead parents was something we had in common.
I very rarely talk about what happened to my mom and dad, it’s so horrific that I think I learned to cope by just overcompensating on cheerfulness instead. I could tell him it’s none of his business, but he just told me how his parents died and although I don’t owe him for coming to help tonight, part of me wants to share this with him.
I push down the cuticles of my nails and work my jaw. “They were murdered when I was a baby.” Technically, according to the police, it was a mugging gone wrong but that’s always felt like an understatement. “My gran was babysitting me while they went out for dinner, when they didn’t come home she called the police. They found my parents in an alley downtown the next day. My mom was shot in the stomach, my dad in the head.”
Flynn doesn’t say anything, but he gets up from the step and moves to sit beside me. He takes my hand in his, stopping me from digging at my cuticles. “Did they catch whoever did it?”
I shake my head. I’m not even sure how hard they tried to find them. The file I got from the police when I was old enough to see it was shockingly slim.
Flynn stays quiet and I turn my head to face him. Sitting like this, we’re only a few inches apart and flecks of silver star the blue of his eyes. Normally, when I tell people about my parents, I’m met with a mix of shock and pity, but the only thing burning in Flynn’s gaze is unadulterated rage. I know it’s not directed at me though, because when he lifts his hand and brushes a tear from my cheek, his touch is the most gentle thing I’ve ever felt.
“Why the color lilac?” he asks.
A laugh whispers out of me. “Back to small talk, are we?”
“For now.” Flynn tucks my hair behind my ear and traces his hand around to the back of my neck, firm fingers massaging the base of my skull.
It feels decadent and it takes all I have not to moan. “It’s such a calm and joyful color. I figure my sadness quota for life is pretty much filled up so I may as well embrace the things that make me happy.”
“It suits you.” Flynn’s warm breath flutters over my face.
“The color lilac?”
“Being happy.”
My eyes sting, a rush of emotion catching my breath. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I’m aware I shouldn’t be getting this close to the man who’s openly stalking me, but I’m struggling to reconcile that version of Flynn with the one who’s looking at me like I light up his world.
It’s only when he leans in, his gaze dropping to my lips, that my heart hammers. I lift a hand to his chest, halting him and giving a small shake of the head. “No kisses,” I say, the rule I made for myself after Tommy slipping off my tongue like this is a date and not a pseudo-hostage situation.
Flynn arches one dark brow but he doesn’t ask why, he just lowers his voice and says, “There’s a lot we can do without kissing, Lilac.”
I suck in a breath. He hasn’t moved an inch since I stopped him. Flynn may like to take charge in the bedroom but he’s giving me the control right now.
I should say no. Get up and shut myself safely inside my house. But I don’t want him to stop touching me and out here in the dark it’s like we’re in that subliminal space where tomorrow doesn’t exist. So instead, I whisper, “Like what?”
Flynn takes my wrist and moves my hand from his chest to his shoulder. “Both hands behind my neck, Lilac.”
I lift my other hand, locking my fingers together behind his neck as his thumb flicks open the button on my jeans. “Good girl.”
My stomach clenches.
