“Those are mine,” I say petulantly.
He holds them back, holding my gaze. “I will return them when you are honest with me.”
Oh, for fuck’s sakes, I can’t with this man. One minute he’s hot, the next he’s cold…
The sunlight illuminates his one eye, making the jade tone stand out while the shadows bathe the other in darkness. Like this man is some shifter version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
“Tell me the truth.”
I sigh in exasperation.
“What truth?”
“Tell me you don’t feel this—” He motions between us. “Thisthingbetween us. That I’ve imagined it this whole time.”
“Whole time? I’ve been here barely a week!” I shout, making some tourists turn to stare at us, but Luke doesn’t seem to care.
“Yes, and you've spent the brunt of your time with Simon Cunningham since you set foot on my estate. You’ve avoided me like the bloody plague, but every morning, afternoon, and night, I catch you staring at me like I’m a fresh slice of cake over the dinner table.”
Is he for real right now?
I cross my arms. “You want me to tell you I choose you, is that it?”
My omega preens at this sort of jealous attention, but my human brain is getting pissed off.
“Want me to tell you that you’re so much better?” I sarcastically drawl. “Better than Simon Cunningham, is that it?”
Luke lets out a growl, shoving my basket of fries on the ledge next to my water, which only fuels my fire.
“That you’re bigger and hotter and smell better…”
I lean towards him, taking a long pull of my water because suddenly I feel flush, and I know it’s not from the sunlight warming my sweater.
His sweater.
Luke takes a step closer, effectively pushing me back against the wall. It seems this is becoming a pattern with us.
Dark shadows. Walls. Undeniable heat.
“I am. Bigger. Hotter. And I certainly smell better than that walking beanpole that reeks of cigarettes.”
I shake my head, and just as I open my mouth to protest, I get the heaviest whiff of caramel and spice and sharp, crisp…
Apple. That’s the missing scent. Apple.
Luke smells like a damn apple pie on Thanksgiving.
And quite frankly, apple pie has always been my favorite dessert.
“You are an ass,” I say, but even I can hear the shake in my voice. The desire.
“And you are a brat, Emily Marie. You taunt me because you know I am right. Just as Elizabeth taunted Mr. Darcy.”
He leans closer to me. Close enough I can smell the vinegar on his breath, close enough that I can’t resist dipping my gaze to those plump, perfect lips.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond, but my voice is barely a whisper.
“If you feel nothing for me, walk away. Right now. I won’t stop you.”
