“Are you stalking me?”
“Are you telling me you had a good time?”
I open my mouth, but I can’t disagree with him. I had an awful time, but that doesn’t justify his behavior.
“Were you here just by chance?” I don’t know why this is what I need to know, but his showing up randomly in my life is a bit unhinged.
This time, he opens his mouth, but then closes it.
Save yourself, the devil… or is it the angel on my shoulder whispers.
“This is insane.” I push the chair back.
Throwing the napkin on the table, I march out of the dining room. Turning right, I decide to head for the bathroom. Hopefully he won’t follow me there.
I barely close my stall when I hear a bang—probably the entrance door hitting the wall—and my hope that he wouldn’t dare evaporates.
“Cora?”
“Go away, you lunatic.” I lock the door.
“Just come out.”
The slight hitch of vulnerability in his voice is almost imperceptible, but I hear it. I wish I didn’t.
“Just wait outside.” I sigh. “I need to pee.”
He doesn’t say anything, and my bladder refocuses me. When I’m done, I turn the lock slowly. Xander yanks the door open, startling me.
“What the hell?” I glare at him, and he glowers right back.
This is getting out of hand. I close my eyes and shake my head. At the situation. At him. At myself.
Because as much as I fight this, his stalking, his showing up unannounced, and sadly, his company thrill me. They excite me, despite my best efforts.
Rooted in a weird stalemate between us, we stand in a silent duel. Or perhaps it’s a dialog. Though there is no way we can find understanding.We never do when we use words. But this pent-up energy must explode somewhere.
Xander looks like he’s fighting an inner battle of his own.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he rasps. “You’re… making me forget that I don’t even believe in this kind of shit.”
We glare at each other, heaving as if we just ran a marathon.
His words jog my memory, and I remember why I’m fighting this. Because he’s younger, reckless, and a playboy who doesn’t believe in “this kind of shit.”
And yet… In his eyes I find raw need, and unadulterated desperation.
It’s a heady feeling to have so much power over someone. To have someone show me how much I stir their darkest desires. To force someone—just by existing—to act without restraint.
He practically vibrates, his shoulders trembling. Like his whole body is straining not to take. Not to devour.
His chest rises and falls, every shallow breath dragging out the heat between us. His jaw is tight, but his lips are parted like he’s on the verge of saying more—more desperate, more reckless, more final.
But he doesn’t move.
Doesn’ttouch me.
His hands hover at his sides, like he’s afraid that if he lays even one finger on me, he won’t be able to stop.
