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“What’s that?”
I lift my wrist and kind of throw it in his direction. His warm fingers close over my bare skin, and I shiver. I twist my arm. “Scars. I saw the bird in your room. It made me think of shackles. Andpoof, here’s the proof.” I giggle at the rhyme.
He traces the scar.
“I’m not crazy,” I whisper.
He drags me into his lap. It’s rough and sudden, and I flinch a little. He catches my hands and brings them down to my lap, tugging my upper body until I lean on him. My cheek touches his shoulder.
I crack my eyes open and stare at the stubble on his jaw.
“I’m not crazy,” I repeat.
“You’re not. Youaredrunk, though.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he talks. His jaw tics. “Why?”
“I thought alcohol would unlock a memory.” I sigh. “It didn’t.”
“Okay. It’s time for bed.”
I shudder and shake my head. “No, no, I don’t think so. I think I’m going to stay awake forever.”
“Why?”
I force my eyes open wider, tilting my head back until I can see his face. His nice, flushed-cheeks, intense-eyesface. “I don’t want to be that bird, Jacob. I can’t get stuck.”
He stares into my eyes for too long. Until I start to feel like he’s picking me apart.
“Okay,” he finally says. “But you’re not going to like the alternative.”
He rises, taking me with him. My stomach heaves, but it doesn’t matter. He holds me close and walks easily with me in his arms. Down the hall, past the illuminated painting, and into his bathroom. He sets me on my feet and leans into the glass shower. He turns on the water…
Then pushes me in.
It’s freakingcold.
I don’t know where I lost my glasses, but they’re not on my face. In an instant, my hair is soaked, my pajamas—everything. My teeth chatter, and I try to get out of the shower as soon as my body unlocks.
Jacob shoves me against the wall, then steps in after me. He heaves my sweatshirt over my head, tossing it behind him. It hits the floor with a wet slap. My shirt is next—although this he doesn’t bother trying to remove gracefully. He grips the collar with both hands and rips it.
My mouth drops open. “W-what the fuck?”
He pulls the remaining fabric down my arms. I cover my breasts.
The water is heating. Either that, or I’m going numb and my body is adjusting. I lean against the wall, my knees threatening to give out on me, but Jacob surprises me.Again.
He steps right up, his shirt gone—when did that happen?—and presses himself to me.
Chest to chest.
He’s warm. Hot, even. I shiver again at the contrasting sensations, because the water’s got nothing on him. He lifts my hand and presses it against the tile next to my head.
“Scars,” he murmurs. “You’re covered in scars, songbird.”
This is the second time he’s called me songbird. I should latch on to it, I should ask him more about it, but the tequila has me acting stupid. I lift my chin. I know the worst of the scars is hidden by my hair, but the obvious one is across my throat.
He runs his finger along it.
“You didn’t know me with scars?” I ask. “Or you didn’t know me well enough to notice them.”
