The way heat floods my skin like fever.
How something low in my belly clenches with a wanting so sharp it feels like being stabbed.
I hate him for making me feel it and myself more for not being able to stop.
He excuses himself from the mayor and starts walking toward me.
The crowd parts around him like he's royalty, and I want to run—every instinct I have is screaming at me to run—but my feet won't move.
My feet never move when he's looking at me.
He stops in front of me. Close. Too close.
Close enough that I can smell him—woodsy cologne and something underneath, something warm and male that makes my mouth water even as my skin crawls.
"Liberty."
He says my name like he's tasting it. Like it's something sweet he's been craving.
My throat goes dry. I take a sip of lemonade to buy time, but it turns to acid on my tongue.
"Elias." I keep my voice flat. My face blank. Give him nothing.
His smile widens, and I see it—the flicker of satisfaction in those pale eyes.
The knowledge that I'm affected. That I've always been affected.
He reaches out. Slow. Deliberate. And takes my free hand in his.
The contact burns through me like wildfire.
His skin is warm against mine, his fingers strong as they curl around my palm, and every nerve in my body lights up at once.
I should pull away. I need to pull away.
I don't.
I can't.
His thumb brushes across my pulse point, and I know he feels it—my heart is racing, my blood is pounding, my body is betraying everything I believe about myself.
His eyes darken. Something hungry moves behind them.
"Welcome home." His voice drops low, a murmur meant only for me. "I've been looking forward to this."
I'll bet you have.
"Have you." I force the words out through numb lips.
"Very much." He doesn't let go. His thumb keeps moving, slow circles against the inside of my wrist, and each pass sends heat spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly, making my thighs clench.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
I want him so badly I can barely breathe.
"Gracie tells me you're settling in well." His voice is pleasant, conversational. His eyes are anything but. "I hope the guest house is comfortable?"
"It's fine."It's a cage. A beautiful cage you built for me.
