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“You’re talking now.”
“That’s because you’re being infuriating.”
“Oh, baby. Do I get on your nerves? Do you hate how you melt against me even though you think you hate me?”
My stomach dips at the way he calls me that. Baby. I always thought I hated that endearment, that it felt clichéd, but apparently, that was before Sebastian fucking Weaver used it.
Just how much more of me is he going to confiscate?
Clearing my throat, I place a hand on my hip. “I don’t think I hate you. I actually do.”
“Now, that’s where you start lying. Your defense mechanism is cute.”
“Don’t call me cute.”
“Why? Offended?”
“No. I just don’t want to catch anything from your elusive vocabulary.”
“You don’t know me, Naomi, so you’re projecting right now and not in a good way.”
“You don’t know me either!”
“But I want to know you.”
r /> His words hang between us like a silent prayer, prying and reaching for more.
A body tremor takes hold of me and it has little to do with how worked up I was a couple of minutes ago.
“Why?” I murmur before I can stop myself.
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to get to know me?”
“Why not?”
“Don’t play with me.”
“I haven’t even started playing with you. When I do, you’ll definitely feel it. For now, I’m merely telling you the truth, but if your low self-esteem forbids you from recognizing it, that’s on you.”
Did the bastard come here all prepared with this type of speech so he could get in my head? If that’s the case, then surprisingly, he’s succeeding.
He stands up and it takes everything in me not to flinch backward. His height is more appreciated up close. It’s like his tall legs go on for miles and his broad shoulders eat up the space.
I’m like a tiny dwarf in comparison.
Not really, but sort of. And seriously, why the hell am I appreciating the height and body difference? Why am I thinking that he could overpower me in a flash?
I shouldn’t.
I really, really shouldn’t.
Inhaling deeply, I call for my inner feminist to kick out whatever black magic is holding my mind hostage right now.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Collecting my win.”
