She followed me into the bedroom, worry still on her face.
Typical Harlow. If she wasn't worrying about one of us, she was probably asleep. Scratch that she probably worriedwhileshe slept. She was like a mother hen. The kind that would peck the shit out of you if you looked at her the wrong way.
"What is it?" she asked. She watched me carefully as I closed the door behind us.
Yeah, I'd watch me carefully too. I'd just spent an hour of my life with my father, then found out he was a monster. She probably thought I was ready to snap.
Or worse, she thought I was like him. That I lured her in here to strangle her. For all she knew, that was the favor Forrest asked of me: I kill her, so Cass and I go on living our lives.
I closed the distance between us. Raised my hands and wrapped them around her throat.
She didn't move. Didn't even blink.
The air was sucked out of the room, leaving it hard to breathe.
Finally, I lowered my hands. "Remind me never to play poker with you."
She snorted softly. "You weren't going to kill me."
I turned away, ran a hand over the back of my head, then turned back. "You sure about that? The apple might not fall far from the tree."
She cocked her head at me. "Do you believe that?"
"That I'm like him?" My brow creased. "I don't know. I have his sense of humor. His temper. He's learned to keep it in check better than me. He and I are more alike than we are different."
She stepped over to me and placed her hands on my cheeks. Her skin was warm against mine. She smelled like something floral, lavender maybe. Whatever it was, it was soothing. Arousing at the same time, which was conflicting as fuck.
"You'renothinglike him," she told me. "For one thing, you're not missing your moral compass."
I put a hand to my chest and pretended to feel around. "Are you sure? Sometimes I think I misplaced it."
"You did not." She gave a short laugh. She took my hand in one of hers and placed both of them over my heart. "You have this, in here."
She half-closed her eyes. "I can feel it beating. That, in there, it does more than keep you alive. It keeps you sane. It holds your feelings for Cass. And for me."
I barked a laugh. "What makes you think I have feelings for you?" I did. Almost more than I could deal with. I'd never felt this way about anyone. Standing here like this with her, they were stronger than ever. Overwhelming.
"Because if you didn't, you would have walked away by now," she reasoned.
"Could be because I'm a glutton for punishment," I said. I moved our hands from over my heart to over hers.
"You don't have to say the words," she said softly.
"I want to," I said. I leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Harlow St. James, you're more or less tolerable."
She batted me on the chest with the back of her hand, while I leaned back and grinned.
"I'm not sure if I can say the same for you, Julius Titmus," she teased.
"Tolerable isn't usually a word people use to describe me," I said. Not that I gave a shit. Apparently people were entitled to their opinions. I didn't care one way or another. The only person whose opinions mattered were Cass and hers. Boner and Archer on a good day. Everyone else could take a long walk off a short pier.
"What words do they use?" she asked.
I placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her until her back was pressed against the wall, bracketed her in with my arms and leaned in close again.
"They use all different words. Asshole. Prick. A few others I can't repeat. My personal favorite is sir."
She raised a shapely eyebrow at me, a few shades darker than her hair. "Sir, hmm?"
