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I cough, covering my snort of derision.
His brows gather in confusion. “I’ve insulted you. I’ve told you what every woman wants to hear.”
He’s observant, I’ll give him that.
“No, you haven’t,” I lie. “But being the perfect wife isn’t everything.”
I don’t know why I speak my truth to him. More often than not, he’s the enemy, but his comment embodies everything that’s wrong with our values. And part of me is sick of holding back, sick of hiding.
One side of his mouth ticks up.
“What iseverything?” he asks teasingly.
The man is conniving. Of course, he’d pick up on that. I should answer him truthfully. After all, I’m not a Popescu; he’s not invested in policing my conduct. Nevertheless, I hesitate.
“It doesn’t matter.”
His mouth tightens. So does his grip on me.
“Speak,” he demands.
“I’m only your tutor. I’m not your responsibility. Once you graduate, we’ll never speak to each other again, so let’s not pretend it matters to you what my thoughts and dreams are. They don’t.”
He frowns. “They matter.”
I shake my head again, pulling against the fingers digging in my hair. It’s a delicious pull, but I stamp down the flames of lust licking at me.
“It doesn’t. I don’t want it to.”
“You lie. You want it to matter.”
I glare up at him. That’s touching too close to the truth and that’s not who we are. There can never be anus. Not with his ambitions. Not with my newly formed plans. I can’t afford to indulge in silly feelings or unrealistic fantasies of Lucian Popescu.
“No, I don’t,” I reiterate.
Ignoring my lie, he suggests, “It could matter.”
My cheeks flush. It sounds like he’s giving nothing away, but that’s quite a statement. Light shines on this neglected corner of my heart, the one reserved only for him. Is he serious or is he toying with me? Either way, he’s propped open the door to this derelict room, and I can’t allow that.
“It can’t,” I pronounce resolutely.
“A part of me has always wanted you, Star. You know that.”
I suck my stomach in. Meanwhile, my core floods, needy and aching.
“I don’t know anything of the kind,” I reply tightly. “You’ve messed with me for years. You kiss me, then you insult me. It’s a constant push and pull, carrot and stick. How can I possibly guesswhatyou feel for me?”
He has the decency to look abashed. It’s brief, but I catch his expression before he covers up with a retort. “You don’t know much about men. Or boys. I messed with you because a girl like you—”
He cuts off with a shake of his head.
My eyes bulge. “A girl like mewhat?”
Shrugging, he pulls away and settles on top of the desk. His pose is relaxed, hands draped languidly over his knees, but he shakes his head once more, silently telling me to let it go and move on.
My teeth grind together. I stare at him, an eyebrow lifted in challenge.Come on, you can’t drop that and expect me to simply dismiss it.
“Go on, speak. You were never afraid before. Don’t start now,” I taunt him.
