The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. Memories flood my mind. His arm casually placed on my shoulder when we were at his penthouse. The night he took out to dinner and brushed away something on my bare shoulder. My skin remembers those fingers, what they can do, how they've mapped every inch of me.
I yank my arm away, but the damage is done. My pulse is racing. Heat pools between my thighs despite my anger.
"Don't touch me."
"I need to explain…"
"I don't want your explanations."
"Then let me apologize."
The door opens behind me. Sloane stands there, her wild auburn hair framing a face twisted with fury.
"You've got to be kidding me." She steps forward, positioning herself between us. "Get away from her."
"I just need to talk to her for fifteen minutes," he says, his gaze not leaving mine. Those green eyes are pleading, desperate. "Fifteen minutes. That's all I'm asking."
"You don't get to need anything when you destroyed her. You don't get fifteen minutes or even fifteen seconds."
"Ivy, please."
The desperation in his voice does something terrible to my resolve. Declan Hawthorne doesn't beg. He commands, takes, owns. But here he is, looking at me like I'm the only thing keeping him alive.
And some stupid, self-destructive part of me still responds to that look. Still remembers how those hands felt on my body. How he made me feel alive.
It wants to feel those arms around me, hear that rough voice murmur my name, let him kiss away all the hurt he caused.
My body doesn't care that he lied. It only remembers how he made me feel when he touched me, kissed me, filled me.
"You need to leave now before I make you leave," Sloane says.
"It's okay. I'll talk to him," I hear myself say. I glare at Declan and say, “Five minutes, then you’ll stay away from me.”
Her head snaps to mine, hazel eyes widening with betrayal. She grabs my arm.
"Ivy, no. This is a mistake. Don't do this to yourself."
"I need to do this. I’ll be fine," I say, squeezing her hand.
She searches my face for a long moment, then exhales sharply.
“Fine.” She levels Declan a glare that could melt steel. "You hurt her again, and I will destroy you. I don't care how famous you are."
Then she steps back inside, leaving the door slightly open.
I inhale, exhale. My eyes glance at Declan from head to toe, taking him in slowly. Swallowing hard, I look away. Sloane might be right. This is probably a mistake.
"Thank you for agreeing to talk," he says.
I don't respond, simply study the man I thought I knew.
The tattoo sleeve on his right arm disappears under his gray Henley. I know every inch of that ink. The puck breaking through ice, the skate blades, his parents' initials hidden in the design. I've traced it with my fingers, my lips, my tongue.
Stop it, Ivy.
He runs a hand through his hair. That familiar gesture that once made my stomach flip. Now it just makes me tired.
"I don't know where to start."
