“Oh, forChrist’ssake.” He mutters it under his breath, but not soft enough. “The purpose of your visit? Why do you think you’re here? You think this is just a fucking estate tour?”
A bell rings somewhere behind us. “That’ll be Mam,” he says. “Dinner in five.”
Theair shifts.
“What are you talking about?”
“What did I say that confused you?” His eyes are dark. Unreadable. “I thoughtyouwere the one with straight A’s. You knew everything back then.” He steps closer. Too close.
“We’re not in school anymore,” he says softly. “And no one’s grading us.”
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the way heat pools low in my belly.
“What the hell are you talking about, Cavin? This is ridiculous.” I toss my head. “I don’t believe in marriage.”
Another step. He’s so close I’d have to put my hands on his chest to push him back. The thought alone makes my palms tingle.
He smells good. Looks good.
And Ihatehim.
So why does my body feel like a live wire?
“Don’t tell me you don’t know the real reason you’re here,” he growls. “Your fucking parents didn’t have the bollocks to say it?”
“Don’t you dare—” I start, but he leans in.
His breath ghosts across my cheek. “No one told you?” he says. “You really thought this was just dinner?”
“Of course I did!” I snap, but it comes out breathless. Wrong. “We’re supposed to make friends with you. That’s it. We have to—” I stop myself. Too much. I’ve said too much.
His eyes narrow. “You were supposed to be polite to me.”
Heat floods my face. “Yes.”
He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “Well, if that’s your goal, you’re doing a terrible job.” He turns to leave.
“No.”
My fingers hook into the front of his shirt. I drag him back toward me.
He’s bigger, stronger, but I catch him off balance. He stumbles, and for one wild second, we’re chest to chest. His heart pounds against my knuckles before his hand shoots up and closes around my throat.
Not squeezing. Just holding. Just there.
A threat.
A promise.
“Let. Go.” His voice is raw and dangerous, but he doesn’t push me away.
His thumb finds my pulse and presses… feels it hammering.
“You’re terrified,” he murmurs. “Or turned on. Can’t tell which.”
Both.
I don’t respond.
