I wasn’t ready for that comment—not right then and, more than likely, not for the rest of my life, especially not when the person saying those words was this man.
The hand on my shoulder trekked even further up, cupping the nape of my neck in a warm, strong grip. “You want to waste money taking a taxi and you’re trying to get out of eating with me, am I right?” he asked softly.
Hell.
Hell, hell, hell.
What I knew without a doubt had to be a finger came up to the top of my ear, curling around the shell so lightly it almost tickled. “You told me you forgave me,” he accused me in that same tissue-paper voice.
I could do this. I could handle it. “I do forgive you, Rip. I get that people say things they regret later on.”
His expression got cloudy. “I do regret what I said, but you’re missing the part where I told you I didn’t mean it. I said I was sorry I didn’t tell you from the beginning I knew about your family.”
He did mean it. Everything had some kind of root of truth beneath it. Everything.
And even if this didn’t…. that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to go through something like this again. Not ever. Not with him.
That light little touch moved over the shell of my ear again, making that tingle start at the base of my spine. Warm breath washed over my forehead as he curled into me even more. “Whatever the hell you might think, you’re the last person I would ever want to hurt. Why are you fighting this?” he asked, sweeping his finger again over my ear and dragging it across the studs at my earlobe.
I could be strong. I could be brave. I could do this. “I’m not… fighting it. I’m just being real. I don’t want you to waste your time—”
“You’re never a waste of my time.”
Where was this coming from?“Rip—”
This mountain of a man took his other hand off my back and settled it on my throat, managing to cup it between his hands before I realized what he was doing. Lucas Ripley dipped his face even closer to mine… so close I tried to move backward so I could get a good look at him, but he didn’t let that happen. He brought his mouth, his face, his eyes, some of the things I liked the most about him, inches from me. His mouth a lunge away…
What the hell was I doing thinking about that? Jeez.
“You haven’t listened to a single fucking thing I’ve said, have you? Seen a single thing I’ve done? You the only person who hasn’t put shit together?”
I breathed in through my nose and heard it rattle right out of me.
“I don’t know how to give you flowery words and shit like that, Luna. I don’t know how to tell you what you want or need to hear. It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve given a fuck about anybody. Do you understand that?”
I could do this. I could—
“I don’t like the idea of you sitting next to some random asshole who wants to get in your pants.”
And that wasn’t at all what I was expecting him to say.
“What?” I didn’t mean to whisper.
His finger came up, and the pad of his thumb dragged across my cheekbone. “Don’t like the idea of you going on a date with somebody.” The pad moved back the way it had come, and he said low, “Can’t fucking stand it. Just when I thought I couldn’t get more pissed…”
He…
He…
Was… jealous?
“I get that I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know about me being a Reaper. Wasn’t sure I ever wanted you to know about me being in a club like that. You said you grew up in San Antonio. The club had a bad rep there, but I got out of it. I’m sorry I didn’t fucking tell you that night in your bed when you said something, but like you said, that shit’s on me. But I want it back anyway.”
Like an idiot, I asked, “What do you want back?”
“I want my goddamn Luna back,” he breathed, stealing the air from my lungs. “I don’t want you to leave me alone. I want you bugging my ass for random shit again. I wanna see your fucking face first thing in the morning, even if you don’t bring me my coffee anymore. I wanna make you something to eat so you don’t end up with Salmonella from that shit you try to cook,” he said in this strangely calm voice that seemed like the opposite of what someone using a jackhammer on my entire existence would have been.
And he told me carefully, too carefully, “Two fucking weeks and I want it back. You gave me these pieces of you I know you haven’t given to anybody else, and they’re mine. You can’t take ’em back. I need them more than you do, you hear me?”
