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“You can forget about college.” Wolfe slammed his phone and wallet against the marble mantel behind me. “The deal is off.”
I turned around sharply, my eyes flaring in disbelief.
“I didn’t sleep with Angelo!” I railed for the second time.
God, he frustrated me to no end. He never once asked me for an explanation or voiced his concern.
He just assumed.
Wolfe stared at me, placid. I ran toward him, pushing his chest. This time, unlike the first and second time I pushed him, he moved backward, just an inch.
There was heat in my touch. I wanted to hurt him, I realized, more than he had hurt me.
Quantities.
“Are you sure you’re a lawyer? Because you sure suck at collecting evidence. I did not sleep with Angelo.”
Third time.
“I saw you in the garden together.”
“So what?” I was so upset I couldn’t even explain myself properly.
I clung to his dress shirt, tugging down and twining my arms around his neck to pull his head down.
I pressed my lips to his, desperate to show him that what we had was real, at least for me, and that in my kiss, there was something unique—a potion—I could never give anyone else.
He didn’t move or reciprocate. For the first time since I’d met him, he did not demolish whatever stood between us the second I gave him permission to touch me.
Normally, whenever I moved an inch toward him, he crossed an ocean, drowning me with kisses and caresses. He devoured me if I let him.
This time, his body felt rigid and cold under my fingertips.
I took a step back, the dull pain in my chest spreading all over my body.
“I like you, Wolfe. I don’t know why, but I do, okay? You make my body feel different. It’s confusing, but it’s true.”
And boy, was it ever.
The truest thing I’d ever said.
My blush was back in full force, ready to obliterate my face.
“That’s very kind of you.” He smiled at me sardonically, standing taller and bigger and more frightening than I’d ever seen him before. “Tell me, Nemesis, do you think allowing me to fuck him out of you would help your chances at attending Northwestern?”
“Wh…what?” I pulled back, blinking.
He still didn’t believe me. There was nothing I could do or say to change his mind.
He lifted his hand, stroking my cheek. Usually, I basked in his attention as though it were a glorious sun ray on a December day.
Tonight, his touch made me shiver and not with excitement. I was still wet because he was there, because he was present, and because his eyes were on me.
But it felt all wrong.
My desire for him felt dirty and desperate. Doomed, somehow.
“I’m not lying to you,” I said, biting my lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Why do you always think the worst of me?”
