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“Ah, but I’ve been paying for it. At least enlighten me on what I’m guilty of in your land of make-believe.”
“You were mean to me.”
He pins my wrists and leans in as I struggle. “Mean to you?” He rolls his eyes. “That you can handle.”
“Breakfast,” I remind him.
“It can wait,” he retorts.
“You were starving.”
“It can wait.”
“Tobias, damnit, let me up.”
“You’re your own worst enemy right now.”
“Debatable,” I say, lifting to bite his chin, and he dodges me easily. “This is bullshit. You outweigh me by nearly a hundred pounds. I’m utterly helpless.”
“Guess you better find some leverage. Or you can just tell me what I was doing.”
Briefly, I entertain headbutting him and get a smug grin.
“It will hurt you more than it will me.”
“Get out of my head.”
“Gladly, it seems to be a scary place today. But only after you give me what I want.”
“Fine.” I close my eyes. “There may have been lingerie models behind you when you slammed the door in my face.”
Heat creeps up my neck and I peek up at him with one eye open. He stares down at me a second before bursting into laughter.
I push at his chest. “It’s not funny.”
He dips his head and nuzzles me. “Oh, mon bébé, are we jealous? No wonder you rode me this morning like you were trying to tame a horse. Going for the gold, huh?”
“It’s not funny,” I shove at his chest, my heart lurching as I again picture him eyeing me with a slew of half-naked women behind him before he shut me out. Gazing up at him, I feel the stretch of my own reluctant smile as he glitters down on me with affection. It’s this look, the look on his face now that keeps me breathless, a relapsed and happy addict.
“Maybe I’ll get used to cinnamon, for you,” he sips a little of the spiced water on my neck with eager lips before making me painfully aware of the difference between the first time he kissed me and now. Everything has changed.
Everything.
He works his sinful mouth, sliding his flavored tongue against my own, and he kisses me and kisses me while the sun warms our skin. “You think adding cinnamon to breakfast will make up for the horrible things you’ve done?”
He shrugs, “You mean the fiction you’ve made up?”
I shake my head and dodge his next kiss as he chuckles. “I would not do that to you, mon trésor.”
My treasure.
The man just called me his treasure. If it was a slip, he’s not regretting it, nor is he taking it back. In fact, he’s staring right at me without an ounce of second thought. It shouldn’t surprise me, not after the recent events of the weeks we’ve spent together. But every day he sheds more light on parts unknown, and every day I find myself more surprised in the best way.
Words evade me as we stare at the other unspeaking, giving in to our natural gravity, the magnitude far too strong to fight. And now that we’ve acknowledged it, embraced it, fed on it, there’s no turning back.
Because the truth is that I no longer hate Tobias King.
I’m in love with him.
