Page 35 of A Dark Fall
“Okay, well, I promise never to smack you in the face again. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t condone violence.”
“Dunno ... it has its uses.” He shrugs. “You went from wanting to kill me to being my primary carer in about ten seconds. That was useful.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t want to kill you. I was annoyed with you.”And embarrassed you might have had apoint. “But please don’t make light of it—it isn’t funny. I feel terrible about it.” I glance at his nose again. God, I hope we’ve caught it in time and it doesn’t swell tomorrow. Or worse, he has a black eye.
“No, it wasn’t funny. It was pretty fucking painful. Not a bad backhander.” He grins.
I think he’s going to add “for a girl,” but he doesn’t. With a shake of my head, I shift the ice pack lower. Then I lean up, pulling his collar down at one side to inspect the wound I all but forgot about. He takes a sharp inhale of breath before turning his head to give me better access. My mouth waters at the sight of the skin on his throat—smooth and tanned with a thick cord of muscle running from his jaw to his collarbone. I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to run my tongue up it, to feel and taste his warm vital skin as the scent of him invades my nose. Then I want to kiss around his jaw until I reach his mouth, and suck and bite on that full bottom lip.
“How has this been healing?” I ask in a strange, faraway voice. I keep my gaze fixed on his neck, afraid he’ll see my desire written plainly across my face with his amazing hereditary eyesight.
Carefully, I peel back the small white square padding on the crook of his neck to peek underneath. The sutures look good, though I’m certain he’ll be left with a scar across the top of his shoulder. A flurry of anger toward the person who did this flares up inside me.
“Yeah, it’s been fine. I don’t mind it,” he says, and I frown. He doesn’t mind it? He doesn’t mind the fact someone tried to kill him with a kitchen knife?
Fixing the padding back in place, I take a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”
He turns his head back to me, eyes wary under his long, dark lashes. He nods once.
“Why didn’t you want to go to the police about this? I mean, someone hurt you badly. They could have killed you. Why would you let them get away with it?” He could have died. He could have been paralyzed. The notion makes my gut tighten with unease.
“What makes you think I let them get away with it?” he asks, quiet.
Something prickles over my skin at the depth in his eyes. So, he paid them back. There can be no other inference from that.
His eyes continue to stare at me, their deep turquoise blue standing out brightly against the healthy, tanned skin of his face. He really is stunning up close like this. Beautiful, really. Yes, he’s also dangerous and intense and mercurial, the kind of man my good-girl reasons should be screaming at me to stay away from, but they’ve gone quiet now. I want him. I’m not even going to bother denying it anymore. It takes far too much effort.
As I see it, I have two options: I move across the sofa and kiss him, which will lead to my sleeping with him, because that’s what I want—more than anything, it’s what I want; or I move across the sofa, remove the ice pack from his face, and politely wish him good night. I’m sure he can tell what I’m thinking. I’m sure he can tell I’m weighing up all the ways this night could end and being completely and ridiculously unable to act upon any of them.
When I shift forward, our bodies are so close I can smell his spicy, masculine scent that makes me dizzy. His mouth opens, and I think he might lean up to kiss me, and I hope he does because it means I won’t have to decide. He licks his lips ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move any farther, doesn’t reach his mouth up to mine. My breathing feels light but labored, his low and hot, as we both stare at one another.
Then I reach up and remove the ice pack from his face. “I think that should do it,” I say breathlessly before standing up.
I leave him sitting there as I walk through to the kitchen to empty the contents of the bag into the sink. With my hands on the sink, my head bowed, I watch as the remnants of melted ice run slowly down the plughole.
Why am I like this? Why can’t I ever take what I want? I want him. Why does itneedto be anything more than tonight? Why do I need it to be? I’m sure as anything he doesn’t.
But then it wasn’t so long ago I had my heart broken. I can’t go back there so soon. Not with a guy like him. A guy who fucks women raw and hard and doesn’t have to try this much to do it.
With a deep breath, I turn around, getting a shock when I see him standing in the doorway of my kitchen watching me. How long has he been there?
“Do you want me to leave you alone now, Alex?” he asks quietly, eyes unreadable.
I look down at my watch and see it’s slightly after 1:00 a.m. He’s only been here for about an hour? It feels like days since I opened my front door to see him standing there.
It’s been a long day, and I should be exhausted, but I’m not. I’m on edge, frustrated, excited, magnetized. Too many adjectives again. I can’t help it. He’s so close and so attainable. The fantasy of him in the flesh no longer seems that dangerous.
“It is late, and I’m tired,” I lie.
He moves into the kitchen. “That’s not what I meant.”
I frown at him, confused.
“I meant, do you want me to stop chasing you and leave you alone now?”
My stomach bottoms out as though I’ve hit turbulence, and my fingers dig into the worktop to hold myself upright. Oh. That kind of alone. His eyes burn through me as he waits for my answer. Waits for me to say he can have me, or he should leave me alone.
I’m convinced now that this kind of attraction is something you only read about. It doesn’t happen to actual people in real life. Or if it does, they don’t overthink it to the point of insanity as I’ve been doing. They grab it with both hands, no matter how unlikely it may seem, no matter the consequences. But then, that’s not real life either, is it? To say to hell with the consequences. It isn’t mine at least.