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His eyes look up to meet mine, but I don’t bother trying to read them, and I don’t stick around when he says my name. I turn and walk away. No words, no backward look. I walk away, because his words are true, even after all of that, I still want him. Which makes me the fool this time.
+ + +
I withdraw from Malcolm and go back to being cautious Nala around him.
He’s been coming to the beach and finding me in the morning—and though it irks, I’ve long since stopped wondering how he knows which one I’ll be at. Instead, I make sure to stay in the water or with the group until the very last second, and then I acknowledge him while I’m leaving, always asking how he is before hopping into my jeep and heading for classes at the Y, or my mom’s, or school. Each time I tell him I have to go, he just looks at me with those eyes, unflinching, unblinking, and I understand he knows what I’m doing.
After four years of barely talking, it’s odd to realize how much and how easily he became a part of my daily life again. Which is why I have to be careful. After he kissed me, and said what he did about Colton not being good enough or strong enough for me, I punched him because he was right, and I hated that.
I’ve spent the last four years trying to prove to myself and everyone else that I’m different than the girl he left behind—stronger, more in charge, more capable—yet, with one kiss, Malcolm showed me I haven’t changed all that much underneath the surface. It’s still him, like it has been since I was twelve. Only this time, he wants me back, and I don’t know how to respond.
A knock on the door stops my thoughts and pulls me back to the living. It’s not late—barely eight o’clock at night, which means it might be Colton with another excuse about studying or a broken television or a party invitation ready, although I’ve rejected all since last week, apologizing even, because it’s not his fault I can’t get over another man. Or, it could be our other neighbors again, looking for sugar to make cookies with a little something extra in them. A quick look in the peephole reveals neither of those.
When I spot Malcolm on the other side, my skin prickles, and my heart begins beating heavily for different reasons. Mal stares straight at me, waiting, silent.
I stay where I am, one hand on the doorknob, another on the door while I balance myself to see out. Sensing my hesitation, he sighs, eyes closing for a brief moment when he leans both hands on the doorjamb. “Open the door, Nala. Let me see you.”
It takes me a second longer, but he doesn’t move. When I finally unlock and open the door wide enough to see him, his hands stay where they are, but his chin lifts and he looks me right in the eyes. What’s inside of his makes me want to step back, but I don’t, because I’ve just promised myself to be stronger than that.
“You disappeared.”
I shake my head, but stop when I see that look only get darker. He’s beautiful. Even now, with the tortured expression of a man whose been denied the very sustenance he needs to live, the sharp planes of his face, the dark riot of his hair curling at his neck, matching the slashing brows—Malcolm Brady takes my breath away.
“All week, you were leaving, waving goodbye to me, avoiding me, and it hit me that I was losing you.Again,” he says, voice cracking, eyes closing. When they open again, there is a sheen of moisture over them. “Don’t leave me, Nalani.” His lips roll over my name, the only one who uses it besides my mother, and it makes my heart ache, the way he says it. “I’m an asshole, what I did…what I said. It killed me to see you with him, not just because you were out with someone else.” He swallows, a hint of nerves showing through. “But because I need you—I’ve always needed you. Even when I shouldn’t. Always wanted you.”
My heart is in my throat, and a part of my brain is screaming at me to run. This—what he’s saying—is dangerous. But I can’t make myself move, can’t make myself leave him. Can’t do anything but look at him and want him to say those words over and over again.
My skin hums under his gaze, and I know this is it. If I reject him now, if I tell himno, whatever snaps between us will explode and we won’t recover. He doesn’t get on his knees—Malcolm, the man who dares death and embraces pain just so he can prove his dominance over it—is staring at me with eyes that beg me to see him for who he truly is…a man who can’t live without a woman.Thiswoman.
My breath expels heavily, and a small check shows me I’m trembling all over. But I still manage to step back from the door and open it wider.
I stand with my shoulders back and my chin up. Malcolm is ten or twelve feet away from me, his beautiful eyes hungry, angry, blue like the inside of a flame I know is going to burn me and leave a mark.
I want this, but I have to be careful—not want too much. Which means I have to think of him as I have every other person I’ve gone to bed with since I was seventeen: a physical release. Pleasure. Controllable.
My whole life is a balance between giving to my body and taking from it. Enjoying and replenishing. Standing tall and stepping back. I can balance my feelings for Malcolm, too. In order to prove myself right, I keep my eyes on his and step backward, finally holding out my hand and waiting for him to take it before I turn and lead him to my bedroom.
No words are spoken, not even when he follows me in, the steady thump of his cast the only sound. He stops in the doorway, and I walk to the other side of the small room, near the drawn shades of the window. We stare, the space between us moving and shifting like an electrical current before a storm. His eyes are like a physical touch as they move over me; I allow mine to do the same, taking in the black T-shirt with his logo on it in white, fitted over his broad shoulders, highlighting the dark gray and black of his tattooed forearms, down to the shorts that rest low on his hips, to his casted leg.
Even that cast can’t stop power from emanating everywhere around him. Malcolm is strong—a strength he was born with, one that he’s honed since a young age. A fighter, he is always ready to defend, to overpower, to protect…even to attack. For all of his love, Malcolm will always be someone who goes on the offensive, and right now, I know what he’s aiming for is me. I just hope I’m strong enough to survive him.
Control, I think to myself, and reach for the hem of my shirt, crossing my arms and slipping the thin material over my head.
He’s like a statue, unmoving; I can see the energy humming just beneath the surface, a beast who lies in wait, patient. Oddly, I’ve never thought of Malcolm as patient. Demanding, yes. Obstinate, aggressive, outspoken, definitely. But never patient.
Now, I see it in the taut line of his jaw, the hard glint of his eyes, the steady deep breaths through his nose. Malcolm is waiting—I want to shake my head and step back, to ease the tension and go back to the slow friendship we were rebuilding. Instead, all I feel is desire. A deep, aching pulse of need recharged after years of repression.
I pop the button on my shorts and they fall down my legs. Stepping out of them, I reach up to pull the halter tie of my bikini.
“Stop.”
My fingers pause, gripping the knot.
The razor-sharp planes of his face are even more pronounced with the look he gives me—part burning desire, part something else. The something else has me scared. I don’t want to be scared. I want to be in control, confident, different than the needy, sobbing mess I was so long ago when I confessed my feelings for him and he walked away.
Which is why my fingers untie the knot at my neck and the one at my back, directly refusing his command. I am my own person; I own my body, my choices, my actions. If this is a mistake, it’s mine to make.
The fabric falls to the growing pile at my feet. Thumbs slip in between the strings at my hips; with one shove, I’m naked, bared, in front of Malcolm Brady.
“Goddammit, Nala.Goddammit.”
I want to cringe; I lift my chin instead. His words scrape at my pride, until I see his eyes. They’re no longer just part of the flame. They are the fire; burning with passion, heat, need.
My skin prickles, my nipples pucker, my body goes on overload. I don’t move—I won’t. Somewhere along the way, this became a battle. I’ve pushed past his defenses—I can see it in the tense set of his jaw, the flaming intensity of his eyes, the absolute stillness of his body. Malcolm is on the edge.
I want to be the one to make him jump.
