Page 75 of Drowning in Darkness

“You can’t promise me that in a world you don’t control.”

“I can damn well try.”

“James, look at me.”

For a heartbeat I think he’s going to refuse, but then he gives me those impossibly blue eyes that have featured in my fantasies since the day I met him. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Wrong.”

“You are wrong, not I.”

I have the urge to wrap my hands around his neck and... kiss him? Oh my days. Would I even know how to kiss at this point? It’s been far too long. My lips tingle in anticipation. His gaze flicks to my mouth like he’s imagining the exact same thing. Come on, James, take the chance. Make that choice, because I don’t have the confidence to do it for us.

“If you hadn’t met me, you would never have crossed paths with Burnside.”

“You’re twisting facts and trying to find logic in the chaos. Christopher would have been at the gala, as would I. Maybe he wouldn’t have picked me out of the many women there that night, and maybe he would have. But that isn’t on you. I could have been invisible in a crowd or attracted his sick instincts. We will never know, because that isn’t our reality.”

He tucks a stray curl behind my ear, his eyes softening in a way I’ve never seen before. “You could never be invisible, Stephanie.” His thumb sweeps across my cheek. “But Burnside is making a play for my position, and he’s trying to get as much collateral as possible to control me.”

“Can’t you see you’ve argued my point? You’re saying we’re connected through our siblings, not through any chance meeting or rescue.”

“Sometimes I hate your whip-smart brain.”

My lips curve. “Sadly for you, I can still see that you haven’t answered my original question. Why, James? Why have you been keeping a detailed file on me with facts not necessary to keep me safe? Why does it read like a dossier on what makes me happy, sad, and everything in between?”

His fingers curl under my chin, and his breath skates across my lips, making them part. “Sadly for you, I don’t have to answer.” He releases me and turns on his heel to stalk toward his bedroom. I growl low and grab the first thing my hand finds and launch it at his head. The delicate fruit splats against his back and drops to the floor.

He freezes, then spins to look between me and the offending item. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that. He needs to know he can’t just walk away like a stomping child. I realize how hypocritical I’m being by throwing fruit at him like a tantrumming toddler. I guess we’re both behaving like idiots, but he started it when I was trying to have a sensible conversation.

He blinks at me as if he’s trying to decide whether to ignore me or laugh. Or whether to spank me. Whoa, where did that come from? “You missed,” he growls in a way that has my stomach flipping.

I’m not thinking as I launch another. Then another. This time, I hit his cheek, and it explodes, splattering red juice across his face.

He slowly drags his thumb through the crushed strawberry on his cheek before looking down at the stain. When his eyes lift back to mine, they’re darker than before. “You’re testing your luck.”

I grab another, ready to fight with strawberry bullets, because I’m committed to the cause now. He grasps my wrists, and in a split second, has them pinned behind my back in one of his hands.

My breath catches. Strawberries have never looked quite so damn tempting.

“Clean it off,” he demands.

“I would, but you appear to have my hands trapped.”

He’s not hurting me, and I’m also not panicking in the way I should by being at his mercy. Perhaps it’s because he looks a second away from being as out of control as I feel.

He grasps my chin with his free hand and holds me steady. “Use your imagination, sweetheart. You are a resourceful woman.”

Does he mean.... No, he can’t, right? Except he’s not releasing me. It’s a challenge I am helpless to answer because one key thing is missing on his little master list of Stephanie King’s psyche... I never back down from a challenge. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

He’s pushing me, trying to see how far I am willing to go. For a man who watches me from the shadows with no other intention than to keep me safe... all the way.

My nose skims his jawline. He stills at the contact, but his thumb sweeps across the pulse point in my wrist, a reassuring caress I doubt he’s aware of.

My tongue flicks out against the juice dripping down his cheek. His chest expands, and his breathing grows heavier as I get bolder with my attentions.

“There’s some on your neck,” I point out as I move lower. He lifts his head, giving me access. I graze my teeth across his pulse, making his throat bob. He smells freaking divine, like the forest, hot showers, and soft cotton sheets.

For a heartbeat, I consider kissing him. He’s so close. It would take nothing to eradicate the distance.