Two hours.Two hours I have sat here pretending to read a book, while Lucian has just sat in the armchair in the corner of his room, staring intently at nothing. Lost in thought, his jaw locked tight.
I want to ask him what happens at midnight tomorrow. Clearly, it’s something that has him stressed, but what’s playing on my mind is whether it’s something I should be stressed about, too.
“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with D,” I blurt.
He snaps out of his trance and looks at me, not saying a word.
Fuck. Jesus. What am I doing?
I shift awkwardly, gather my hair over one shoulder, clear my throat, and try again. “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with D.”
He cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving mine. “Drawers,” he says.
I blink. “Yeah. Erm. Your turn.” I gesture lamely, fidgeting under his stare.
“Something beginning with P,” he says, still not looking anywhere but at me.
“You have to say, ‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with P,’” I correct him.
“Why?” he counters.
“Because that’s the game,” I say, like he’s stupid.
“What if I don’t want to?” he presses.
“Huh? But why would you not just play the game how the game is intended to be played?” I argue.
The vibrant amber in his eyes flares at my retort. “My home, my room, my rules. I can play the game however I want.”
I fold my arms across my chest and roll my eyes. “Fine. Play it your way,” I relent.
“You back down too easily,” he points out.
My spine straightens. “I do not,” I snap.
“You allowed me to change the rules just because I demanded it.” He stands from the chair and walkstowards me at the edge of the bed, his gaze never straying from mine.
“Maybe I just wanted to try and distract you from your thoughts,” I huff, moving the book from my lap. I kneel up on the mattress to meet his height and stare him down.
He stops, his body an inch from mine. I tilt my chin up defiantly.
“I will admit, you are a distraction.” He swallows, his eyes trailing over my body, down to the deep V where the robe has fallen open.
I swiftly cover myself. That smirk returns to his lips as his eyes find mine again.
“I wonder what else you’ll offer to distract me from my thoughts?” he asks, his voice low and seductive.
My lips part, a shuddery breath escaping me. I drink him in; his skin, his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, his dark, unruly hair that looks like it would feel like silk, the eyes... Of course, those godforsaken eyes.
My gaze lands on his mouth. His soft, sinful-looking lips.
I slowly wet my bottom lip.
Could I kiss him? Should I?
Somehow, he has moved even closer without me realising, his mouth hovering millimetres from mine.
When did he do that?
