“I’m going to shower,” I growled, furious that my skin prickled wherever he looked. Somehow, he’d managed to turn me on when I knew he’d held something back from me. Maybe several somethings. “And we can pick up this conversation where we left off when I’m done.”
“I look forward to it,gattaredda.”
The rumble of that endearment ran down my spine like he’d pressed kisses to each vertebrae.
Ignoring it and him, I jutted my chin out and stormed off.
Turning around so I could face the door, I went to close it.
I only meant to slam it.
But then, the wickedest, wildest thought overtook me.
He was hiding something from me.
I’d had enough shit hidden from me over the years to know when someone was being cagey with their words.
So, I acted on that wicked and wild thought…
Punishment.
Snagging the fold where I’d bound the two sides of my towel together, I snapped it off and away.
For a second, I flashed him.
Let him see me in the raw.
Let him crave what he couldn’t have.
Let him regret pissing me off.
Then, when his eyes widened, lips parting, hands fisting at his sides, I slammed the door.
Locked it.
And then stomped over to the shower.
It was time to show him the non-Dramamine-drugged, non-drunk, non-murder-witnessing, non-adrenaline-rushed Kitty.
No more Ms. Fucking Nice Girl.
TWENTY-EIGHT
STAN
Until today, my poison of choice had always been heroin.
My whole life, I’d chased that first hit, the first exultant high, because nothing ever matched up to it. It never did for any addict.
But that split-second blink exposed every part of my angel to me and suddenly, those urges I’d fought my whole life faded to dust.
A chemical impossibility but a stark truth nonetheless because Kitty Frasier had already bound me to her without meaning to.
Now, she’d taken me captive.
And I never wanted to be freed.
My addiction had a new name.
