Every part of her pulls at me. Her light is a magnet to my darkness.
I try to avoid her gaze at first, letting my eyes trail over the rest of her.
She’s wearing worn-out jeans, frayed at the hem and ripped across the thigh. A pale pink spaghetti-strap top clings to her torso, outlining her breasts in a way that’s both delicate and dangerous.
She’s small but sexy. And nothing about her now reminds me of the girl from before.
What the hell did I expect? She’s been living in Paris, studying fashion. Obviously being around people her age and out of a convent-style environment changed her. She’s not a girl anymore.
She’s a woman.
How experienced is she? Does she have a boyfriend? Does she party?
And why the fuck do you even care, you bastard?
She approaches slowly, and I get a better look at her eyes.
They’re even brighter than I remembered. A shade of icy blue so intense they look like colored contacts.
Her eyes mess with me.
Back then, it annoyed the shit out of me when she kept looking away. I wanted her to keep those eyes on me. To hold them there until I told her otherwise.
Would she obey?
I could teach her to obey.
Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m losing it.
These are completely inappropriate thoughts to have about my best friend’s little sister.
She’s not even looking at me directly now.
No—she’s checking me out. I can see the nervous energy rippling through her small frame. Her breathing’s uneven, and her gaze travels up my body.
Does she have any idea how transparent she is?
Lilly’s looking at me the way a woman looks at a man she’s attracted to—and it turns me the fuck on.
She’s Ethan’s little sister.
I try to hold on to that truth—but the beautiful blonde standing this close to me is making it impossible.
When she finally gets close enough that ignoring her would be ridiculous, she meets my eyes—and this time, she doesn’t look away, like she did at the Christmas party.
“Your eyes are incredible. Yellow, like a cat’s,” she says.
It’s really fucking hard to catch me off-guard—but for a moment, I’m thrown.
Then I snap back, “Is that how they taught you to greet people at the convent?”
She looks stunned. “I wasn’t at a convent. I was never a nun. And for the record, we already texted. You didn’t even say hi. I have a serious problem with holding back what I’m thinking, and your eyes are amazing, although—”
She stops. But I know there’s more. “Although what?”
“Nothing.”
“I thought you said you can’t hold back what you’re thinking.”
