Horrified, I tug my dress down, my cheeks burning red with embarrassment and rejection.
Did I do something he didn’t like?
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, barely finding my words.
“We can’t do this, Georgie,” he says gruffly. He shakes his head, pressing his lips together. Despite the fact that he’s the one putting a stop to this, I feel disappointment emanating from him. But I could be imagining it.
“We don’t have to stop,” I say, desperation in my voice.
I step towards him again, brushing my fingers over his chest, and he grabs my wrist. He pushes my back against the wall. I squeal in fright.
“No. Wecan’tdo this,” he snarls. “I…I can’t let this happen.”
My cheeks burn a darker, hotter shade of red.
“O-okay….” I stammer, my eyes wild with confusion.
Kristopher turns his back on me and walks away.
This moment, this kiss, will slip into my thoughts almost every night as I lie in bed trying to sleep. Every night for years, and every time I see him. Every time my friend mentions her brother’s name, I will remember this moment. And every time I try to date other guys, I will compare them to the wild, burning desire I have for Kristopher, the unmatched attraction…and they will fall short in comparison.
It’s been years since the kiss happened, yet I’m still obsessing over it in ways I wish I could stop. It’s been driving me crazy.
He distanced himself from me after that night. It was only a rare occasion when we bumped into each other while I was hanging out with Jess, and an even rarer occasion when Kristopher might message me, possibly even after a few drinks, made braver or more reckless by the alcohol streaming through his veins. I haven’t been able to figure him out, or what he wantsfrom me. But ultimately, I think it’s clear that there will never be anything between us.
However, those momentary brushes with him always set my soul on fire all over again, and in the end, make it impossible for me to move on or forget him. Or that kiss.
I blink furiously, fighting for awareness. Kristopher is still talking to that man. Something about Rio Vista. Out in the desert.
They’re discussing territories; Kristopher trying to trade with the man.
That’s when I realize he’s trying to trade for my life. To buy me. As though I were some kind of possession, a commodity to be bought and sold by these men.
Anger bubbles inside me. Anger, confusion, fear…
The drugs are slowly wearing off. My head is still a mess, fighting for clarity, when Kristopher reaches out and shakes the man’s hand.
Next to me, a tall, rat-like man excitedly announces that I have been sold. The trade is complete.
It doesn’t take long for them to cut the restraints around my wrists and ankles and free me from the chair. I try to stand immediately, lose my balance and fall. Around me, men laugh, chuckling at my clumsiness. But Kristopher is right at my side, his arm slipping around my waist as he pulls me against his solid chest.
“I’ve got you,” he growls, low and dark, his voice like a beacon of familiarity in this strange place. His voice is soothing. A safe place. But my instincts are running wild, and nothing feels safe.
I want to lean into him as though he is my rescuer, but I don’t know him anymore. I don’t know this place or the side of him that would be here.
But even with his arm around my waist, I still can’t find my balance, so Kristopher lifts me, and to my horror, he cradles me in his arms.
“Put me down,” I demand, my voice dry and rasping, barely audible.
“Just relax, Georgie,” he mutters.Just relax. It’s Kristopher. It’s him.
“I won’t relax. What the hell is going on?”
“Stop fighting me,” he complains, grabbing at my wrists as I try to push away from him.
The stupid, long, ball gown dress they put me in tangles around my legs and makes it more difficult to fight him.
“Put me down,” I shout again, and the men around us laugh.
