Page 35
Not one goddamn second of it.
My voice drops. “You think I had a choice?”
Her breath catches. “Graham—”
“No,” I cut her off, my voice lower now. Rougher. “I saw you go down, Anastasia, and I moved. I didn’t think. I didn’t care who was watching. I just knew that you were on the ground, and I wasn’t there fast enough.”
Something flickers in her eyes. “You can’t—”
I reach for her, one hand brushing her hip, the other sliding up to cup her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. “I can’t what?”
She swallows. “You can’t look at me like that.”
Like I want to ruin every reason she’s given me to stay away?
Like I want to taste her again until she forgets why she’s even mad?
“Too bad,” I murmur, my thumb tracing over her cheekbone. “Because I can’t stop.”
Her breath shudders against my lips.
And then she breaks.
Her hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer just as I crush my mouth against hers.
The kiss is nothing like the first one.
It’s hotter, angrier, and desperate in a way that feels inevitable.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric like she can’t stand the space between us.
I press her back against the counter, my hands gripping her waist, thumbs sliding under the hem of her coat, feeling the warmth of her skin through her shirt.
She moans softly into my mouth, and the sound damn near wrecks me.
I deepen the kiss, my fingers skimming up her spine, feeling her shudder against me.
She tastes like adrenaline and frustration and something so fucking addictive I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
Then she makes a noise in the back of her throat—something caught between surrender and restraint—and suddenly she’s pulling away, pressing her palms flat against my chest.
I don’t move at first, breathing hard as my forehead rests against hers.
Then, finally, her hands tighten into fists against my shirt, and she exhales shakily.
“This is a mistake,” she whispers.
My hands slide to her waist, my grip firm, my heart still hammering against my ribs.
“No,” I murmur. “This is the only thing that’s felt real since you walked back into my life.”
She closes her eyes, inhaling sharply.
But we both know there’s no walking away now.
I watch her try to work through every excuse in real-time. The way her fingers tighten around her arms, the way her throat moves when she swallows, the way she refuses to meet my eyes for longer than a few seconds.
She’s stalling.
