Page 55

His lips part, and he looks genuinely thrown, his hand still splayed over my chest like he forgot I'm the one holding it there.

"I don't…" He swallows, eyes flicking down to where his hand is still spread over my chest before jerking back to my face. "I don't get why you keep doing this. I mean—why…"

Why me? The question hangs there between us, raw and unguarded enough that it hits harder than it should.

So I stop smiling, lean in until my mouth is close to his ear, and let my breath brush warm over his skin "You really want me to spell it out for you?"

His whole body tightens, and the hand I'm still holding against my chest flexes before he seems to realize what he's doing. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and when he finally looks at me again there's something shaken in his face, anger split open by heat and confusion.

"I hate you," he says, like he needs the words out before something softer slips free instead.

I smile. "No, you don't."

His gaze hardens. "Yes, I do."

The lie lands between us, sharp and useless, and I don't bother answering because his hand is still spread over my chest, his fingers warm even through the water, curling into my shirt like his body can't decide whether to shove me off or drag me closer.

Slowly, watching his face the whole time, I lift my free hand.

He sees it coming. His green eyes sharpen, his nostrils flare, and his mouth parts just enough to show me teeth before he presses his lips together again like he can physically hold himself closed.

My fingertips skim his wrist first, then the dark medical band wrapped around it, tracing the sleek edge of it under the water. The second I touch it, the thing gives the faintest pulse against his skin, a tiny vibration I feel through my hand that makes his whole body go taut.

I follow the line anyway, dragging my fingers slowly up the inside of his arm, over wet skin and locked muscle, feeling the exact second his breathing turns shallow, feeling the exact second he stops even pretending he might swim away.

"Don't," he says, but it's breath more than warning, his chest already rising too fast, lashes fluttering once before he forces his eyes wide again and glares at me like he hates the fact that he's letting this happen.

I smile, because letting is generous. Letting means I get to have free play. And we all know how much of a player I am.

"Don't what?" I murmur, keeping my voice low, almost curious, my hand still moving. "Touch you here?"

My thumb grazes the line of his shoulder, right where I'd noticed him favoring the injury in the water, and his breath catches so hard it nearly turns into a gasp.

No. Not there. Hmm, interesting.

"Or here?" I drag my fingertips from the curve of his shoulder to the side of his throat, and his breath goes ragged, his lips parting on a sound he bites back.

He shivers under my hand, and the water has nothing to do with it.

The filters hum softly around us, water lapping against tile, and the whole pool feels too small for how close we are now, chest to chest, his hand still trapped between us.

His eyes are on mine, bright and furious and too wide, those ridiculous dark lashes wet and clumped, his whole face open in a way he would probably kill me for noticing.

My hand slides higher. "Or here?" I ask again, my thumb brushing along his jaw before I tip his face up and drag the pad of my thumb slowly over his lower lip. "You have a dangerous mouth, little mouse. You keep looking at me like you want to bite."

"Don't flatter yourself," he manages, but the line comes apart on a shaky breath, his chest heaving once under the water like his body has already betrayed him.

My hand slips into his wet hair, just enough to push it back from his forehead, my fingers brushing the shell of his ear, then tracing behind it, down the sensitive line where neck meets jaw. This time he shudders, a low sound catching in his throat before he can swallow it.

"Stop." The word slips out on a shaky breath, and his whole face tightens like he regrets it the second it's audible. His gaze drops to my mouth before jerking back up.

I laugh, too pleased to hide it. "You don't sound like you mean that."

His fingers curl harder against my arm, not enough to stop me but enough to keep me there, and that tiny betrayal nearly undoes me.

I lean in again until my mouth is just beside his ear, my lips almost brushing skin as I murmur, "If you want me to stop, little mouse, you're going to have to tell me what part of you can't take it."

His breath catches, his grip tightening the second the words settle between us.