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“No,” I say, the longing in my voice so obvious I can’t even fool myself.
“No? Why not?”
“I can’t kiss you like that again, because I hate you.”
Chapter 22
“I don’t think you really hate me, Lindsay,” he says softly, his thumb grazing my lower lip, his eyes smoky and troubled. When he talks to me like that, I unravel inside.
I want to unravel like this, become a long line of ribbon I can wrap around him, tight, and never, ever let go.
Which means I can’t. I have to stop this, now, before I lose myself completely.
“You don’t know anything about me, Drew. Quit trying to make assumptions when you have no idea. No idea.” The burn of his mouth lingers on mine. I can taste him, that unique flavor that I just recall as Drew when I give myself permission to revel in memory. I keep watching his mouth, as if by looking at it I can learn something.
It just makes me want to kiss him again.
I can’t kiss him again.
If I do, I’ll lose myself in him. That kind of self-hatred would be the final, ultimate betrayal in my life.
When you betray yourself, there’s really only one resolution.
And that’s suicide.
Given that I’m not interested in offing myself, that means I don’t even have a choice right now.
I have to get away from him. Stop looking at those hot, full lips. Stop thinking about how his tongue tasted moments ago. Stop thinking about his hands on my back, one sinking into my hair. Stop thinking about how he pulled me closer, as if he really wanted me.
Fantasy.
It’s all a stupid fantasy. A damn determined one, though. I can’t seem to let it go.
Standing fast, I move away from his touch. It feels like a kind of death. Drew’s faster, though, and before I realize it, he’s holding my elbows, making me look at him.
The backs of my knees tingle when I look into those eyes. Real emotion fills them, overflowing into his expression. It’s like he really cares.
I’m inventing that, right? In group therapy sessions at the island I was told that one of the most dangerous moments back home is when you project emotions onto other people. Wishing someone felt a certain way didn’t make it true.
Oh, how I wish what I see in Drew’s face were real.
The ache rises in me, a steady sorrow that comes with a sigh.
“Lindsay,” he says, tilting his head just so. Heat radiates off him in waves, and not because we’ve been running. I hear footsteps coming fast. Drew’s glance darts toward the sound.
“Silas,” he mutters to himself, eyes flashing as he pulls me closer with urgency. “Listen. I can’t say this twice. Nothing you think you know is true. Nothing.” His tone is vicious, a startling change from a moment ago. “Remember that, no matter what happens.”
Dark hair, a black suit, and a man racing toward us is all I see as Silas appears, barely huffing from exertion. By the time he comes between the bushes Drew’s a respectable distance from me. No one observing us now would have any clue we were just kissing a minute ago.
No one could guess.
“Ms. Bosworth,” Silas says, one eye twitching as he looks me over. “Your knees.” He gives Drew a sharp look. “You didn’t call for backup?” He looks around the park, eyes like an eagle’s.
“She tripped. No attacker.”
Silas’ shoulders drop. How cute. He’s still naive enough to care. “Good. You need medical attention?” He looks at me again. I think this is the most I’ve ever heard him speak.
“I’m fine.”
