I sigh and type something neutral.
Me: I’m safe and sound, studying.
I’m not telling him where I am.
If he wants to find me, he will. If he’s just concerned about my safety, then I’ve reassured him.
I click my phone off and toss it into my bag in an attempt to clear my thoughts so I can actually absorb the words I’ve been reading for an hour. I scribble a few notes and then flip the page, only for the book to close directly on my hand.
A sharp gasp leaves me until I spy the intricate, black ink tangled together beneath the sleeve of the forearm in my sights. I glare up at Cross and pray he can’t read between the lines.
“I told you I was safe and sound,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “No need to show up to check on me.”
Cross slowly pushes the book toward the middle of the table, causing my hand to slip out from the brittle pages. Cross hooks his finger around my hair, pushing the strands back behind my shoulder.
“I’m not here to check on you,” he admits in a low, gritty voice.
Tipping my chin, I meet his face as he lingers behind me. “Then why are you here?”
His gaze lowers until his eyes fall to my mouth. Something hot spreads to my chest, and my stomach twists with that same familiar ache I only feel with him.
Cross says nothing, but he doesn’t have to.
His face says it all. The warm color of brown in his eye shifts into something darker, somethinghotter,and before I can convince myself otherwise, I slip my glasses off, scoot my chair back, and stand.
I glance around to make sure no one is eyeing us as we walk toward the back of the library, our elbows grazing just enough to send my hairs erect. I keep walking, Cross taking my lead, until we end up at the farthest aisle in the library where mostly unused books are stored.
It’s darker back here, quieter. There aren’t any listening ears or wandering eyes.
“So, why are you here–” My sentence is cut off by Cross’s hands around my waist. He presses me against a bookshelf and peers down at me with a hooded gaze, his perfect lips slightly ajar. His hands disappear from my hips, and he grips the sturdy shelf beside my head, trapping me in place.
I whisper his name while tipping my chin to peer at him. “Cross.”
He shuts his eyes, his jaw flexing. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?” I ask quietly.
He pins me in my spot with a hot glare. “With conviction,” he presses. “Like you’re warning me.”
My heart is beating out of my chest, my pulse thrumming, eager for something neither one of us should really be partaking in.
“I probably should warn you…” My back arches as I push my chest onto his. “But that depends on why you’re here.”
I suck in a sharp breath as he cups my face with force, his fingers tangling within my hair. One slight pull against the strands and my mouth would be on his.
“You know why I’m here,” he says.
A neediness digs into my bones. “Say it.”
The bookshelf creaks from Cross’s firm grip beside my ear. I watch in awe as his tongue slips out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip.
“I’m here because I’m fucking desperate.” He bounces his gaze back and forth feverishly.
“For what?” I whisper.
His eyes narrow, his mouth a breath away from mine. “For you, Scar. I’m desperate foryou.”
There’s a pressing need in his tone. It’s quiet but prominent, and although I know I should deny him, I do the opposite. I lean forward, and he takes the bait. Our lips collide, a quiet moanslipping off my tongue as he ambushes my mouth. The kiss is deep, his tongue halfway down my throat, like he’s afraid I’m going to pull away.
