“You didn’t say that, that night,” I murmur.
Her hands ball into fists at her sides.
“Mirabelle, please.”
She halts.
“Mira—”
“You left me there.”
My brows rise.
Eyes pricking with tears, she turns, and her voice cracks. “You didwhat you did, and then you just stomped off.Nowyou want to talk about it?Now?Days after the fact? Days after the fact, you come up to me and ask about a code for when you need tostop? You alreadydidstop. All on your own.” She wipes her eyes, sniffs. “I’ve never been kissed, Damion. No one has ever touched me in the ways you have, in the ways you so casually do. And you do it all like it means nothing. You abandoned me. I felt used. Ifeelused. But I also feel stupid. Because I’veletyou. I… Idon’t knowwhy I let you. I don’t feel unsafe around you. Iknowhow to make you stop. I know that you would if I told you to. I want more than physical attraction, but I’ve never been treated the way you treat me before. I’ve never felt wanted like this. Even though Iknowit’s cheap, it’s…” Breath leaves her as she lowers her face. “It’s addicting. I keep looking at the stupid photo of me pressed to my car, and you lookdrugged. You didn’t have a single sip of alcohol that night, but I’ve never seen that kind of intensity or want on a man before. I can’t help myself. Knowing I caused it is… It’s more than I can bear.” Her head shakes, restarting, and she lifts her attention to glare again. “You mess up my brain, and I hate it, so I do not want to be around you anymore. Good day, sir.”
I catch her arm before she can take another step away.
“Let g—”
“Have you read the stupid article that goes with the picture?” I ask.
She swallows.
“You have,” I mutter.
She shrinks. “It said horrible things.”
“I know.” Iknow. That’s why I didn’t want her anywhere near it.
“Those people think you’re making me dress like this, because youlikeit.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t want to feel like an object anymore. I don’t care how nice it seems to feel wanted beyond sense. It’s not nice to be touched and left. And if I’m just a body to you, that’s all this will ever be.”
I lace our fingers, rein her back to me. “You’re just a body tothem, Mirabelle. They don’t have a clue who you are, and they’re making up stories that sell. To me…you’re so much more than their stupidity.”
“You don’t know me, either.”
“I’m getting to. Which is why I’m being so—” I swear, “—careful about how far I let myself go. I want to know you. I want to learn you. But I also…really,reallywant you. I’m obsessed with the way you dress, the way you carry yourself. I cussed when I read that idiotic line about mymakingyou beyou. They weren’t even accurate. Because I don’tlikeit, Mirabelle; Iloveit. When I look at you, Iamdrugged. I left after I did what I did because I was within an inch of ripping the mask off. I wanted to taste your tongue. I wanted tobite.” And if I’m being honest… I have to be honest. Blowing out a taut breath, I lift my free hand to her face. “Istillwant to. Almost as badly as I want to help you in the kitchen and spend all my free time after you go home looking up the lyrics I remember you singing to learn the songs you like. Almost as badly as I want to tease you until you’re an absolute mess of incoherent whimpers. Almost as badly as I want to hear every thought in your head play on repeat until I can’t separate your voice from my own…”
Cautious, Mirabelle says, “I…feel like you said something concerning in there.”
Because, possibly, I did. “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”
Eyes narrowed, she says, “You want to tease me until I’m incoherent.”
I swipe my thumb along the blush on her cheek and murmur, “I want to know exactly how to turn you into a puddle for me. I want to know you so well that I can do it with a gesture, or a look. I want to look in your eyes and read your thoughts.Thatis how well I want to know you, Mirabelle. Andthatis perhaps a touch concerning…but I don’t really care. I long to be that close to you.”
Her guarded eyes linger on mine. “So what you’re saying is this isn’t just a physical crush.”
“It isn’t.”
Her attention cuts off me. “That explains why you were so adamant about me being myself.” She stares at our joined hands. “Are you not over me already? It’s been over a week.”
Over a week and over twenty pages of entries. Over a week and thousands of words of enamored awe. Over a week and not a single irritating character trait found.
“I’m not over you. At all. I think I’m falling harder every minute of every day.”
“That’s really inconvenient for me, actually.”
“Why?”
