“Shit,” I hiss, biting my lip to ward off the incoming tears.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” a deep, husky, familiar voice snaps from above.
He’s not shouting. He barely snarls the words at me, but the malice behind them cools the temperature to arctic levels. I crane my neck, meeting a pair of cold, dark eyes glaring down. The same eyes that bored into Chloe’s during their scene.
He’s even more overwhelming when he’s this close.
His square, chiseled jaw clamps shut as he takes in the mess I’ve made of his black jeans and black tight-fit, immaculately pressed pullover that probably hides a chest as chiseled as his jaw. There’s even a bit of coffee on his high, black leather boots.
I wonder what his favorite color is.
My eyebrows bundle together. There’s an edge to him. An aura of menace unlike anything I ever came across.
“I’m...” I swallow hard, the initial annoyance that sparked my courage spiraling away like the autumn leaves outside.
A second ago I was ready to snap right back, but now the words dissolve on my tongue. I can’t tell if I’m nervous or awestruck. Probably a bit of both.
Rolling my lips, I scan the skulls, roses, tombstones, and crows inked up his arms, then the writing running vertically from his ear down the side of his neck.
“I’m sorry, I...I didn’t—”
“Didn’t see me?” He spits the sentence out like poison. “That’d be a first.”
Despite my blood heating and cooling on repeat under his hostile stare, a small, stubborn, utterly careless part of me stirs to life again. He could snap me in half without effort, but the longer I drown in the rage swirling in his dark eyes, the less I care.
“Cat got your tongue?” he clips.
The stunned trance eases away, replaced swiftly by annoyance. I cock an eyebrow. “No. Just nothing to add.”
I’m a little proud my voice is as biting as his, even though I’m on the floor while he’s towering above, a bulk of harsh arrogance and bad temper. He reminds me of a guy in my high school who thought he was better than anyone to walk the earth: God’s gift to mankind. He had no reason other than his parents’ deep pockets for feeling superior... unlike this guy.
This guy knows he’s intimidating. That he makes people’s fight or flight response kick into the highest gear. Heknowsand he’s wringing out every ounce of his superiority, rubbing it my face.
“I’m sure you can think of something to add.” The weight of his glare holds me immobile. “Sincerity would be a good start.”
“You didn’t detect sincerity because it wasn’tthere.” I try and fail to match his level of provocation, so for a confidence boost, I add a barely audibleassholeat the end.
Despite his nail-biting, toe-curling, hair-raising demeanor, his head tilts slightly, betraying surprise. He catches himself fast, marshaling his body language back into bad temper mode.
“I heard that.”
“Are you sure?” I gather myself off the floor, quite a feat with only one usable arm and most of my body sore. “I don’t mind repeating it.”
Now he looks downright amused, but not in a friendly kind of way. More like a lion enjoying the struggle of its prey. Like my days are counted and he’s plotting how he can make them as miserable as possible.
He reaches out to help me up, his huge biceps straining against the tight pullover.
I swat his hand away.
No matter how painful gathering myself off the floor is, my pride won’t survive accepting his help.
I’ll be damned if I let him get ahead.
“I can manage.”
Bending my knees, I bring both feet under my butt, careful not to flash the cafeteria my white panties. A triumphant smile stretches my lips once I’m at my full five-foot three, eye level with his chest.
He’s got a foot on me if not more, and I suddenly feel tiny. The lion and prey metaphor seems ridiculously apt.
