“What are you asking me to do, then?”
He steps closer, his presence a solid force against the storm raging inside me. “To stop running. To let someone be here for you. To let me be here for you.”
I shake my head. “You can’t fix this.”
“No,” he admits, his voice rough. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”
The weight of his words slams into me. The intensity in his eyes, the promise laced between each syllable. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
“Talk to me. Rage, yell, give me anything but this closed down half version of yourself.”
I snort, but the humor is absent. “You don’t want to go there with me, Nash Stirling.”
“What does that mean?”
I point at him. “You asked for it. You want to talk about half versions of one’s self? Why don’t we start with what you have been hiding from me?” His eyes widen. “Don’t you dareclaim you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I snap. “I may be clumsy little Daphne from Strongfair, but I am not stupid, so don’t treat me as such.”
He inches closer, and I tilt my chin in the air and stare him down defiantly.
His lips twitch. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look as stunning as you do right now. Wild, angry, determined.”
“Heartbroken,” I snarl. “I didn’t take you for a sadist.”
He tilts his head. “I have never thought you stupid, nor will I ever treat you as such. Having a unique view of the world around you may make you misunderstood, feared even, but that’s one of the things that draws me to you. We are surrounded by static, rigid stories with no creativity and folks who blindly follow what they have been taught all their lives. Then you come along and upend everything we know. You create new worlds and exciting adventures. Being with you is intoxicating. I find myself searching a room for you to see what you are doing. I try to predict what is going to happen next, and find pleasure in the fact I am wrong every single time.”
“You are avoiding the question with pretty compliments,” I snap.
“No, I’m laying the groundwork for the fact I have never thought you stupid. Unconventional? Sure. Unintelligent? Never.”
“Groundwork laid. Now answer the damn question or leave me in peace.”
“What do you think I am?”
“Stop answering questions with questions,” I demand. Fury rises in my veins. Why won’t anyone give me a straight answer?
“I can’t answer you,” he says slowly.
I huff and stride past him, shouldering his chest because he’s stupidly tall. He grabs my elbow and spins me to face him. I yank my arm free, his touch burning my flesh. It would be so easy togive in to everything he wants, to forget about my determination to get a straight answer. But if I let this go now, he will see it as weakness.
“Daphne, stop,” he growls as he gets in my face and pushes me against a tree. My back hits it, knocking the breath out of my lungs. “Listen to what I am saying.” He leans in close enough that his breath whispers across my lips. “I can’t answer you.”
My heart thuds once, twice, thrice. Hecan’tanswer me. Can’t—not won’t.
“Show me,” I whisper as I grab his shirt and press my lips against his.
One of his hands tangles in my hair, yanking on the strands to tip my head back, and the other grasps my hip, drawing my body against his. Heat sparks between us, something electric and desperate, and the world narrows to the space between us.
His lips are firm, demanding, filled with something unspoken. I pour everything into the kiss—my grief, my anger, my longing for something, anything, to tether me back to the present.
And Nash gives it all back to me.
His fingers tighten against my hip, pulling me impossibly closer, making the evidence of his erection a hot brand against my stomach. A quiet sound escapes my throat, and that seems to snap something inside him. The kiss deepens, his hands mapping the curve of my spine, his body pressing against mine as if he can mold me back together, piece by broken piece. My fingernails rake down his back in silent demand. More.
He stills, and his entire body goes rigid. I barely register it at first, lost in the haze of desperation. But then I feel it—the sharpness pressing against my lips. I pull back, breathless, and my stomach drops.
His teeth. They’re different. Elongated. Sharper. Predatory.
He turns his head away, his breath ragged, hands trembling where they still rest on me. “You should go.” His voice is hoarse, edged with something dark and barely restrained.
