“Distracting.”
My pulse jumps. “There it is. Again.”
He goes still. I should shut up. I should back off. I should pretend his words don’t send electricity skittering under my skin. But I don’t do any of those things.
Instead, I tilt my head. “Why do you keep calling me distracting, Ash?”
He exhales like he’s fighting something. Himself, probably. “Because you are.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s all you’re getting.”
“What if I want more?” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “Then you’re asking for trouble.”
A shiver runs all the way down my spine. “Why? Because you don’t like me?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Sparky.”
My breath catches. “Then what is it?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. My heart slams against my ribs.
He steps closer—so close that the cold air between us warms, charged. “I can’t decide,” he says slowly, “if you’re testing me… or trying to kill me.”
My laugh is shaky. “Why would I want to kill you?”
“Because,” he rasps, leaning in just enough to brush my hair with his breath, “you make me forget how to think.”
My knees almost buckle. “Ash…”
He pulls back just a fraction, eyes burning.
“Get out of my head, Lucy.”
“I’m not trying to be in your head.”
“You’re in it anyway.”
I don’t have a response to that. I don’t know if there is one.
We stare at each other like the snow isn’t falling, like the world isn’t turning, like the air between us isn’t vibrating with something wild. Then he breaks the moment—he clears his throat and points to the fallen ladder. “You’re done for the day.”
“I am not?—”
“You are.”
“You can’t just?—”
“I can.” He grabs the ladder and folds it up one-handed, like it weighs nothing. “And I am.”
“Ash—”
He turns, locking eyes with me again. “Don’t fight me on this.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
