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I don’t know why I do it. But the reflex is there, the reaction. Like a chip in my brain that signals for me to surrender completely at that particular touch with this particular person.
“Are you mad?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
He smiles. “Don’t be.”
As if I can help it. My jealousy is pervasive, all-consuming, sharp razors slicing through my veins until all I can feel is the trickle of hot blood seeping beneath my skin.
“Why Hillary?”
That unreadable smile stretches, curiosity floating behind his eyes. “Why not?”
He cocks a brow on that question, and I want to tell him because he’s mine, but I can’t really say that, can I?
I have no right to him, no claim. Not when my future is already mapped out for me. Not when he can’t come to my house to pick me up for prom and not when I can’t date him openly.
All we have is this.
Dappled sunlight and shadowed rooms.
Secrets and more secrets all piled together.
“Fine. But why did you chase Paul off?”
Another growl erupts low in his chest, the sound vibrating against my bones and between my thighs. Except unlike the other, this one is a distinct threat, just not toward me.
“He only wants you because I said you’re off limits.”
And now I’m angry again. “That’s not fair.”
Before I can continue complaining, he runs his thumb along the line of my jaw, his hand cradling my chin gently.
His eyes stare at my mouth, so much heat behind them that the amber color becomes whiskey, liquid and thick, something sweet that will still burn your throat when you swallow it down.
“You’re off limits,” is all he says before pulling his hand free and stepping back, a chill running over my body when his heat is gone.
Our eyes lock, anger surging through me again.
“Like hell I am.”
He winks as he walks backwards to put more space between us.
When he turns to leave me standing in place, I glance down at his shoulder where his shirt is unbuttoned and has fallen open. I immediately notice something that only makes me angrier.
That wasn’t Ezra this time.
Or maybe it wasn’t Damon.
There’s no telling, and it only frustrates me more.
What I do know is that the handprint bruise isn’t there like it was on Saturday, which means the twins really are taking turns driving me crazy.
Emily
“I hate him.”
Ivy laughs. “Who? Ezra or Damon?”
