“So yeah,” I drawl, though I’m a hundred percent certain I’m answering a question no one asked, “the cost of living in New York is high. It’s not just rent. It’s food and clothing and eating out and food and…”
Fuck,I glare at Romeo,help me!
“Can I get you anything, another drink?” he asks Selby, saving me from myself as seamlessly as if I’d asked him to do so aloud.
“Oh no. Sadly, I can’t. I have a crazy week at work.Hugemeeting on Wednesday, so I have to get some work done tonight.” She does that little nose scrunch thing. “You can clean up though.”
With that, she leaves the table, and Romeo and I are faced off alone.
“There’s a mark on your neck,” I hiss.
“I know.”
The fucker’s gone crazier than I am because he fucking smiles when he says it. Instead of pulling his T-shirt up to cover it, he arches his neck and runs the pad of his thumb over the mark I made on him.
It’s terrible what it does to me. A rush of arousal. A rush of guilt. Then fear. Then shame.
Romeo gets up from the table, stiffening slightly as he straightens. There’s a quick flicker of pain, a little wince followed by a dark grin.
Oh God.
He can feel where I was.
There’s another hit of arousal. Wild and rampant now. A truckload of it. A mountain of it. There’s more guilt too. Heaped doses of guilt. So much guilt I can’t tell if I’m drowning or floating in it.
“Maybe, like, kind of…I think maybe I should start packing,” I stammer.
“You really moving out? The house didn’t look close to ready.”
“It’s, uh, it’s ready enough.”
“Hmm,” he says with a wry smile. His eyes are on me again. Hot and hard like they were before. Like glass scraping my skin. “Good thing I know where you live, huh?”
Sweet Jesus.
He’s going to be the death of me.
He follows me down the hall, steps as nimble and light as ever, hardly making a sound as he gains on me.
“Have you lost your mind?” I demand, spinning around and looking furiously toward Selby’s study. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks.
I gape in disbelief. Literally nothing about his behavior has been obvious to me in years.
He moves closer. So close I can feel the heat of his skin through my clothes. His lips dust my neck and my earlobe. My whole body erupts into gooseflesh.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he whispers. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
His eyes are soft blue. Pale and as dreamy as I’ve ever seen them. He’s Romeo again. Not angry Romeo. Not hard, unreadable Romeo. There are no masks between us at all. It’s just me and my Romeo.
“Did I hurt you?” I whisper so softly I’m not sure he’ll hear me.
He steps back so I can see his face clearly. “Yeah, Jude. You hurt me.”
My gut clenches. It feels like I’m breaking. I hate hurting anyone, and though I’m not always successful, I try mybest never to do it. I really do. The thought of hurting Romeo though, like that of all ways? It’s unthinkable.
I’m about to begin a long and sincere apology when he continues, “You hurt me good.” He closes the space between us again. “You hurt me so fucking good, Tiger. You killed me and brought me back to life.”
