“You said we were friends, and friends ask friends questions,” I reason.
Her teeth nibble her lower lip in diffidence. “What if you don’t like what I have to say?”
“I highly doubt that’ll happen.”
She sighs, relenting. “Screw it. Why not?” Savannah rolls her shoulders, straightening her back like she’s gearing up to approach a threat. “Because love is only a happy thing in fiction. In real life, people lie. You become attached, and then they rip your heart out. They make you promises, lull you into a false sense of security, then tear it all away. Why live through that when it’s safer to read it instead?”
From her answer, I realize that the threat she’s sensing isn’t me. It’s her own fear.
“Because you miss out on life,” I contend.
“But what kind of life is that? Pain of the flesh is durable. But pain of the heart…” She trails off, looking to the dozens of neatly shelved romance novels in front of her, her safe escape. “It’s excruciating.”
Who broke this woman so irrevocably that the only way she’s willing to experience the most amazing gift one human could give another is through fiction? I will happily make their life a living hell. I want the man who hurt Savannah to live the most excruciating pain every day for the rest of his life. I want him to bleed. I want to watch the floor beneath him stain with red.
“Who hurt you?”
Savannah doesn’t face me as she answers, but the tears in her eyes are evident. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not here anymore.”
“Don’t let one person get in the way of living,” I plead.
She finally turns back to me, her face open and vulnerable. “Have you ever been in love?”
The question is a punch to the gut—more like a hit below the belt. It reminds me once again that I’m not supposed to like her. I’m supposed to hate her, but everything about this woman makes it impossible.
She’s innocent yet experienced. She’s soft yet tough. The juxtapositions of Savannah Foster are alluring.
Even though I saw her and Rory kiss yesterday, hating Savannah isn’t something I can do.
“Yes,” I answer honestly.
Her eyes tighten slightly with curiosity. “Did you ever tell them?”
“No.”
The corners of her mouth faintly curve down. “Do you regret it?”
“Every day,” I whisper.
The sincerity in her eyes is unmistakable. Seeing the sympathy she feels for me causes something to obliterate the carefully built walls guarding my heart.
My hand lightly grips her chin, bringing our faces closer together. “If you don’t want me to kiss you, tell me to stop.”
Her gaze briefly flickers to my lips, giving me all the confirmation I need. I guide our mouths together, and when they touch, the possessive monster inside me echoes one word.
Mine.
The kiss is soft but charged with lust. Her hands grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer to her body.
My cock is rock hard, and all we’ve done is kiss.
I lick delicately across the seam of her lips, and she mewls, opening up to me. When I taste her, the groan that resounds in my chest is primal.
I need to know what every inch of her body tastes like.
Her tongue glides across mine, causing me to almost lose control and fuck her right here in a very public area.
My hands trail down her sides, landing on her hips as I drag her into my lap, and the book she was reading falls to the floor. Her knees drop to either side of my thighs, and she leans in.
