She’s sharp, like a knife. I hate it.
But I also find it strangely desirable.
I open my eyes, swallowing harshly. Her lips are parted and her pupils are more than blown, her chest heaves with each breath and the scent of sweet honey is so thick I could choke on it.
“It’s not you,” I say, but I know it’s a lie. She scoffs as she leans in, pushing away from the wall. The motion makes me step backward, my fingers barely touching the wall now. Part of me wonders why Simon hasn’t tried to weasel his way down here at this point, but I digress, thankful for his momentary absence.
“Oh, are you really that cliché, Luke?”
I have to fight to remain calm and not balk at her sarcasm. It’s the first time she’s truly said my name outside of the day I picked her up from the airport. Plenty of women have said my name—in disdain, in ecstasy. But it’s the way Emily says it that makes my blood heat.
It’s the way she hangs on thek,the way her tongue rolls thel. It’s her American accent, her smooth, seductive tone. Altogether, it’s a heady combination I can’t deny.
“It’s not you, it’sme,” she bites, her voice a whisper that grazes my skin like a warm fire.
“Actually,” I say, my own voice dark and smooth. “It’s Simon.”
I watch the surprise on her face as she contemplates for the briefest moment if perhaps she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks. I laugh, knowing as much as I’d like to draw that out, I won’t. I don’t need Emily to think I prefer men or something. That’s Charlie’s department.
Though I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who knows about my brother’s preferences.
“Or rather, it is his knack for trying to take everything that belongs to me.”
Another bout of honey fills the space as Emily scoffs again.
And there goes the sweet little American Omega, gone in a flash.
“Well, Simon can’t steal something you never had in the first place,” she says, and with that she turns on her heel and gives me her back, just as I hear Simon’s voice much clearer and I realize he’s on his way down the hall.
Bugger.
Chapter
Seven
Emily
The cool London air kisses my exposed skin, and I have to admit it feels good. But that might also be because I’m being kept warm by this thick sweater; the one Luke gave me my first night here. I’d had every intention of returning it to him, but after my exhausting self-love session, it felt kind of weird to return knowing what I did with it.
Okay, maybe I didn’t do anything toitper se—except hold it close to my body and breathe it in like some Luke-scented plushie as I drifted off the sleep. Every night this week. No big deal.
Simon nudges my shoulder, pulling me from my wandering thoughts as he nods towards a rather large, ornate clock tower. Big Ben. He leans close to me as Sarah takes some selfies on the other side of me.
“And that over there is the clock tower fromBack To The Future,” he says, his polished accent making his claim sound serious though I know he’s kidding.
“Lies.” I say, shaking my head. My fingers pull on the cuffs of the sweater, roving over the soft, warm threads. It really is quite cozy and warm.
“I would never tell a lie,” he says with a smirk and a laugh. I shake my head.
“You are a terrible liar, Simon Cunningham.”
“California.” I turn to see Luke, casually stretched out alongside the edge of the rail, overlooking the scene himself; his profile drawing attention to the perfect cut of his jaw, his dark hair blowing in the wind like some shampoo commercial.
“Huh?” Sarah perks up from her phone.
“Specifically the Universal Studios back lot, in Hollywood. That’s where theBack To The Futureclock tower is.”
Charlie rolls his eyes. “Of course you would know that. Nerd.”
