The door swung open quickly, a gust of wind slapping me in the face from the force.
Brown eyes blinked at me once, twice, and then widened. “Marlow?”
I had every intention to shove the ice pack into his hands and rattle off some quick apology before turning around and heading back down the stairs and leaving him be for the rest of the night. I really did, I swear.
But the second I caught sight of that slightly bewildered expression, coupled with the soft curiosity lingering in that dark gaze of his, I found myself leaning forward until my shoulder hit the side of the door’s molding.
The moths dancing above our heads, the irony of them constantly trying to fly into the orb of light with no second thoughts outside of their desire to get as close to it as humanly possible, wasn’t lost on me in the slightest.
In fact, the parallels were almost staggering.
Me, a moth.
Blake, the damn flame.
I was powerless to stop myself from any of this. My body moving on its own accord with the desire of my heart at the helm of it all. This was beyond a simple passing sexual interest and was hitting into actual infatuation that I cared very little at the moment to stop.
Why bother?
Why hurt myself anymore than I’d already done so by pretending like Ididn’tcare?
Clearly, being in denial wasn’t working anymore and was most likely going to send me into an early grave if I continued to drink about it.
Blake’s lips parted again.
“Tell me to leave,” I said, cutting in before he could.
He blinked one more. “What?”
“You gotta tell me to leave.” He was so close, I could reach out and cup his face if I wanted to. Pull him into so I could bury my nose in his hair and breathe whatever shampoo he used like a fucking dog.
“I—why?”
I stayed right where I was, pressing my full body weight into the doorframe and letting the slight pinch of the corner of it dig into me to break through the cloudy haze already trying to muddle up my thoughts.
Here was a moment in time that I had a crossroads right in front of me.
Turn and walk away and leave Blake be, or do what I really wanted to do and shove him back against the door so I could kiss him stupid.
Both options would change things.
Which consequence was I willing to face in the aftermath?
“Blake,” my voice was already growing gravely. “If you let me cross over this doorway and into that office, I’m going to lock it behind me and lay you out on that desk you probably have piled high with papers right now.”
His throat bobbed.
“And I’m not leaving until I make a mess of you.” That was a fucking promise.
He let out a shaky exhale.
“Tell me to leave,” I said once more.
His hand flexed around the edge of the door. I was frozen still, waiting for him to make his choice. Either way, I’d behave and do as he asked. If he told me to go, I’d respect it and hurry back to my cabin to lick my wounds. There would be no holding it over him. He’d made his choice and that was that.
If not...
If he let me in?—
