“Maybe. But it’s my mistake to make.”
“No, it’s not. Not when it could hurt people you care about.”
“People like who?”
“People like your family,” he says. “Your team. Everyone sitting at that table who loves you.”
The threat is subtle but real, and it makes my blood run cold. “Are you threatening them?”
“No. I’m telling you that getting involved with me puts them at risk.”
I stare at him, and the anger comes roaring back. “You know what? I’m done. I’m done with your cryptic warnings and your mysterious bullshit and your ‘I can’t tell you’ routine.”
I step closer, close enough that I can see the pulse beating against his throat. “You want to know what I think? I think you’re full of shit. I think you’re a coward who’s using some made-up drama to avoid dealing with what’s going on here.”
“It’s not made-up. Trust me.” His jaw twitches.
“Prove it.”
“I can’t.”
“Then shut up about it.” I grab his shirt and pull him closer. “Stop talking about danger and protection and all the reasons we can’t do this. Stop making excuses. If you’re not interested, just fucking say it.”
“That’s not?—”
“No. I’m tired of talking. And I’m tired of being jerked around by someone who’s got better options.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you’re in here with me while your date’s sitting out there waiting for you. I’m talking about you making me feel like a jackass for thinking there was something between us.”
“There is.” His hand reaches for me, sliding down the front of my shirt.
“If there was, you wouldn’t be having dinners with other guys. You wouldn’t be telling me to walk away.”
“I’m telling you to walk away because... ”
“Because I’m not good enough? Because I’m just some confused kid you can mess around with when you’re bored?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it? You want to have your cake and eat it too? Keep me interested while you fuck someone else?”
The words are barely out of my mouth when I lose all control, pull him close, and crush my lips against his. I hate myself for doing it but at the same time, I can’t stop myself. I need to knowif there’s something on the other side of the kiss, if it really is all in my head.
The kiss isn’t sweet. It’s hard and angry and desperate. He moans against my mouth, his hands fisting in my hair as his tongue tangles with mine.
It’s two years of frustration and want and anger all exploding at once. He tastes like wine and lies and everything I’ve missed.
When we break apart, our breathing is heavy. His lips are swollen, his hair mussed, and he looks as shaken as I feel.
“Tell me that you didn’t feel that,” I say, my voice rough. “
“What I felt doesn’t matter.” He stares at me, something dark and desperate in his eyes. “You have no idea what you just did.”
“I kissed you. It’s not that complicated.”
“Everything about this is complicated.”
