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Instead of turning to face him, I stand still.
Silent.
“When did you get back?”
Finally breathing, I turn on my heel, and my eyes dart to his.
There’s such intensity. Passion. A glimmer in his beautiful, blue irises that I can never get enough of.
He steps closer.
“About a minute ago,” I softly reply.
Cocking his head to the side, he studies my face, before stopping dead in his tracks. “What happened?” he asks, demanding.
“Nothing happened.”
“You have this look.” He scowls. “Something’s wrong.”
“What look?”
“Don’t,” he sharply warns, moving toward me. “Do not act as if you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
I stare at him, trying desperately to keep my composure.
His eyes narrow, and turn dark. “Does she know?”
“Know, what?”
He towers over me, and his gaze is piercing. “Have you fucked up at dinner?”
“No,” I snarl, offended. “Dinner went fine. Your mother is fine.”
“And, you?”
I’m completely fucked up. Aboutthis. Aboutus.
Aboutyou.
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, Sasha,” he breathes, lightly stroking my cheek with his thumb. “You know where dishonesty gets you. Or, perhaps, I could remind you?”
Quickly stepping back, his hand falls from my face, and he appears alarmed.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” he snaps.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t, what?” he urges, striding toward me. I move behind the couch, putting it between us. “Sasha?”
“I can’t,” I repeat, breathless. Confused. Powerless.
Jaxon stares silently at me, horrified. He remains motionless, quiet, as I pace back and forth across the room.
“Dinner went great, Jaxon. Your mother is a complete sweetheart. She is caring, thoughtful, and kind. She speaks so highly of you. She cares about you so much.”
He nods. “Okay. And?”
