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Brinley’s alive and well, so I no longer have that worry bouncing around in my head with all the others. What shocked me was the lack of fear I saw in her when she was with Shane … The freedom.
A twinge of jealousy rolled through me to see her so … normal. I’ve been trying for years to help her face her fears, and then some jackass—albeit a gorgeous one—comes along, abducts her from the side of the road then somehow manages to bring out the warrior I’ve always known was inside her.
Smiling to imagine her continuing on with her life without a care in the world, I allow the driving beat of music to sink inside me, my body moving with each pulse. Yes, my ass is shaking and my boobs are bouncing, but that’s what dancing does … Why it’s so seductive.
They say you can tell how a person would fuck by the way they dance—their ability to keep a rhythm. I don’t know how much of that is actually true, but the thought conjures a memory, one that makes my heart stutter and my face burn red.
Judging by your dancing, I assume you know how to fuck. That’s gotta get you somewhere in life. Is that why the dickhead you keep around is nothing more than a means to an end?
Asshole.
He was only repeating what many people have said, but I still hate him for the insult.At least that’s how he meant it the night I kicked him in the face, and he left the club.
Opening my eyes so I can peek over at the bar, I see Damon watching me intently. Everything about his expression shows me he wants me. Regardless of how I feel about him … or how he feels about me.
I was hoping after he dropped me off and said he had something to do that he wouldn’t return to watch over me.
Yet there he is in his usual spot, staring at nothing but me.
This situation with the governor is bullshit, but I’m smart enough to know that I’d rather be stuck with Damon than whatever goons the governor would send over.
Still, being with Damon isn’t making things easier.
Especially after the argument we had at my apartment.
Damon and I spent an awkward day at his house. One where I did everything I could to avoid him, and he did the same.
His twin, Ezra, isn’t so bad. He was surprised I can tell them apart. He said nobody except some girl named Emily and the guys they grew up with have been able to do it.
I didn’t want to mention that they may be twins, but they don’t have the same scars. Sure, they both have them, but I’ve been studying Damon’s for months now. Every time I see him. And while Ezra has scars that are faint against his olive skin, it’s Damon’s scars that cut the deepest.
They affect them differently, too.
Ezra is cold, while Damon is always hot.
I assume that means Ezra has somehow moved past the scars, while Damon is still trapped in the story of what caused them.
Even now, I can sense Damon’s storm.
It’s not blazing around him so that intensely that people are keeping their distance or glancing at him with caution. It’s mild as he tips a beer to his lips, his throat swallowing down the liquid.
Right now, he’s just … beautiful.
Angry … but beautiful.
I pissed him off with the question I asked this morning, but I’m still too intrigued to let itgo.
I’m not sure if I can ever forgive him for what he’s done, but I’ll still do anything to know.
And what does that say about me?
Curiosity and all that. I’m way beyond the simple cat that dies because they got too close.
I’m now stuck in a box somewhere with a flask of poison and a radioactive source, some guy named Schrödinger watching this experiment wondering if I’m dead or not.
Why do I even care?
Damon is on his third beer now, his attention fully on me, except for moments here and there when he glances at Granger and sneers.
