“What’s up?” I prompt. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a long silence.
And then he says, “I hate it.”
More alarms blare inside me. “Hate what?”
“Hate that these guys think they have any right to touch you. That they lay a finger on you.” His eyes, dark and intent in the low light, meet mine. “I wanted to cut off his hand for touchingyou like that.”
I’m strangely thrilled by his words. By the fierce, possessive look on his face.
It feels like there’s electricity racing inside my veins, and I have no safe place to let it go. So I try to diffuse the energy with a joke.
“That’d be a real mess for me to clean up. So thank you for restraining yourself.”
“I know you can handle yourself,” he says, still dead-serious, not letting me off the hook with my dumb joke. “But I hate that you have to. I wish I could protect you from that.”
Something inside my chest squeezes. “You did, Luke. You kicked his ass.”
“Only after the fact. I want to make it so you don’t have to deal with any of that, ever.”
I’m so touched I don’t even know what to say.
Eventually, I manage, “You can’t. If they do it under my dad’s nose, they’re always gonna do it. Nothing’s gonna change my world.”
He puts his hand over mine. “I don’t believe that. And when you start believingyoucan change your world, you will.”
With words failing me, I figure a hug will do.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and scoot next to him. All the way next to him, my side pressed against his. As I rest my head on his shoulder, he adjusts his posture to make it even more comfortable for me, draping an arm around me.
It’s like he always knows what I need, even before I do.
“You’re so annoying,” I joke with a sigh. “What self-help book did you get that gem from?”
“Just another thing I figured out for myself along the way.” His thumb rubs gently up and down my shoulder, each stroke sending heat through the thin fabric of my shirt.
I exhale, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?”
There’s apause.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“No? What’s got you stumped?”
His hand goes still against my shoulder. “You.”
I look up at him in surprise, and the breath leaves my lungs entirely. Our faces are very close now. So close I can see the lighter green flecks in his eyes, the way his pupils have dilated. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. To catch the sandalwood scent of him.
“What haven’t you figured out about me?” The question comes out barely above a whisper.
His gaze drops to my mouth and stays there, lingering like a touch. When his eyes meet mine again, something in them has shifted, something darker, hungrier. Almost desperate.
His hand slides from my shoulder to cup my jaw, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. My skin burns where he touches me.
His mouth is so close now that I can feel the words against my lips when he speaks. “How to make you mine.”
He closes the distance between us and kisses me.
