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Hands on my waist, he spins me around, just as the club’s spotlight washes over his face, illuminating his light, cornflower eyes.
Eyes I’ve seen before.
Oh, my god.
The shock on his face mirrors mine and the mouth that had just been whispering dirty promises to me drops open as my entire body alternates from icing over to burning hot.
"Kiara?!" he shouts.
I just nod, numbly. Mutely.
"What are you doing in London??" he shouts, the surprise and confusion in his voice doing nothing to calm the storm building inside me.
I can't tell him.
I can never tell him why I’m here. Not now.
"Hey, Kiara, who's your hot friend," my friends shout, circling around us.
His name stumbles out of my mouth, as if I haven’t whispered it a thousand times before, "Th-This is K-Kylian. Kylian Baxter. He’s my brother’s best friend."
Kylian’s hand is tight around my wrist as he drags me off the dance floor and out of the club into the still warm London summer night air.
"Let me go!" I yell as soon as we're a few feet away from the club's entrance.
He spins me around so that I’m facing him. "Kiara,” he hisses, anger spilling from every pore, “You shouldn’t be here. I'll let you go when I get you—"
"Get me where? Home?" I yank my hand out of his hold. "I don’t have a home here, remember?!" I yell and try to ignore the way my voice sounds bratty even to my ears.
He looks down at his hand as if he hadn’t realized he was still grabbing me and then scowls, reaching around to rub the back of his neck. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
I meet his scowl with one of my own. "I am—ugh, Iwasenjoying a night out dancing with my friends."
"I mean, what the hell are you doing in London? I thought you were in the U.S. at college."
"I. Just. Told. You. What. I’m. Doing," I spit out. Why is he being such a dick? If it’s because he’s embarrassed about what just happened, that makes two of us, but at least I’m making an effort to be civil.
My eyes shoot poison-tipped daggers at him at the same time as they take in a view that I haven’t seen in three years. The last time I saw him was the day after my high school graduation, when he came to say good bye to my parents. They were moving away from London and returning to Hong Kong where my father was from. I would spend my summer there with them before going to the U.S. for college. Whatever I thought might happen when I came back for a visit to London has fled from my mind. As it stands now, though, I want nothing to do with Kylian Baxter.
He sighs, long and slowly, as if the entire world is weighing on his shoulders, then pinches the bridge of his nose, no doubt thinking about what he’s going to tell my brother. I’ve heard that sigh before. Most memorably, I’d heard it when he caught me cutting class in Grade 10. He’d come to visit London during his spring break from college and after running into me in town with a bottle of bourbon in my hand at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, he had sighed just like he was doing now. I’d begged him not to tell my brother and he’d finally conceded but only if I’d let him take me home. I’d agreed but only because my friends were looking at him like he was an ice cream sundae, and they either wanted to be the topping dripping down the sides or to swallow the sundae in one big gulp. At the time I hadn’t understood what the appeal of Kylian Baxter was.
His sigh finally comes to an end and he reaches out for me.
I take a step back; the last thing I need is for him to touch me. Again.
A frown ripples along the tanned, smooth skin of his forehead, almost imperceptibly. "Come on, let's go. Do you need a place to stay? Nathan is going to go fucking psycho if he knows you went to a club like this. I'll give you a ride." He walks off, then turns when he realizes I’m not following.
"I’m 21, Kylian. I'll get a ride when I'm done dancing. You can't tell me what to do. You're not my brother."
My words must strike a chord because before I know what’s happening, he closes the gap between us and my back is against the wall with him towering over me. With his back to the streetlight, I can’t make out anything but the shadows of his infuriatingly handsome face. I lift a hand to shield my eyes but he grabs it and holds it over my head against the wall.
"Yes, you're right. I am not your brother. And don't you ever forget it," he says in a voice I’ve never heard from him before. Dark. Husky. Dangerous. Taunting.
The breath sticks in my throat like tar. My eyes flick upwards and directly into his eyes.
I've never been so close to him that if there were light, I’d probably be able to see my reflection in his irises.
"I…" my voice sticks in my throat just as my breath did, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk.
