Page 104

He turns his face up at me and arches a brow, as if not believing a word I’m saying. I’m glad it’s dark so he can’t see my cheeks burn. “He’s just upset, London. This is how he acts when he’s hurt—he pretends nothing is wrong. He’s been doing the exact same fucking thing since Olivia died. He postures, it’s what he does.”

His words are a gut punch to my stomach. It stings, and he knows it, which is why he said it. I shake my head and push out the twinge in my stomach. The guy I’ve spent the last two days having passionate sex with is consoling my broken heart over someone else. This couldn’t get more bizarre. And Micah’s acting as if it’s no big deal, as if he doesn’t care.

Who’s posturing now?

My words come out heavy. “Maison can do what he wants to. I have no right to be upset with him.”

Micah cocks a brow. “I’m not sure what you’re worse at, being quiet or lying. Although you seem to be pretty good at lying to yourself.”

I loosen a breath while he continues with his back turned to me. “Micah, that’s not fair. Everything about this situation just hurts. And I can’t turn off my feelings for Maison. Love is not a light switch; it doesn’t work like that. Are you going to at least tell me where you were?”

Even in the moonlit night, I see his jaw flex and the heartbreak on his face. “I had something to do.” His body is tense, like he’s trying to restrain himself.

He’s mad at me… No, he’s furious with me.

I fold my arms and hold his stare. “Fine, can we just go back?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not? We have what we came for. We need to get back to Thomas.”

He jerks his chin. “Same reason as before. I don’t want to deal with you getting lost in the dark woods.” He throws a blanket at me. “Morning will come in about six hours, so get comfy.”

A full twenty-four hours since we left. I’m exhausted, starving, and don’t know if I can endure another night outside. I fold an extra sweater to use as a pillow, and I lie down on the cold, hard rock, trying to decide what’s worse, the icy air above me or the stone-cold rock beneath me. I decide the latter and drape it over me, and immediately shiver. A rock.

Micah is making me sleep on a rock, in October, in Alaska.

Asshole.

A surge of anger pulses through me, and I can’t help but feel like this is some sort of punishment, and I won’t be getting any sort of sleep.

I turn to look up at him while he hovers over me. “My life was easier when I hated you, you know,” I bite out at him before curling up, facing the faint reflection of the stars over the lake, my icy breath a stark reminder of the winter looming.

After a few minutes, he lays down beside me, and slowly, he presses himself closer and closer till his whole body is wrapped around me. He leans into my ear, sending a sharp chill down my spine. “I haven’t even started making you hate me yet, sweetheart. Wait till I fucking do, and see how you feel then.”

My lip trembles, and I inch away from him and lie sinfully still as every fiber of him heats my backside. I refuse to answer him; I refuse to acknowledge his presence, even as he runs his hands up my sweater and warms my skin. His hands are so big, they cover every inch of my tiny back and curves.

I refuse to respond to Micah’s mood swings right now, not when I did everything he asked of me. So I give him icy silence, not even a flinch, as those fingers move toward my lower back and he massages his knuckles into it, rubbing my skin in the most delicious way. I bristle, refusing to give any sort of hint that I like what he’s doing. Eventually, I ease just a little, caving into his warmth. I get lost in his soft circles before he digs his fingers into the apex of my thigh with more force than he ever has before.

I jolt, opening my eyes while my entire body lights up, and he presses his fingers in harder, sliding down to the wetness building in between my legs. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’m not here for it.

“Stop it, Micah.”

With one fluid motion, he grabs me, whipping me on top of him like a rag doll so my legs are on either side of him. His erection presses hard between my legs.

“Stop it…” he says in a mocking voice. “What? Am I not allowed to touch you anymore?”

My body ceases, my eyes narrow, but he doesn’t let me go. I gasp at how forceful he’s being.

“Not when you’re like this,” I say, trying to pull away from him. He grabs my waist harder, pressing me closer, pulling me in, biting at my bottom lip. A surge of heat pools in my stomach.

He stares into my face. Even in the dark, his eyes burn into me. Something is different, like a flip switched inside him. He’s here, but not here, a shell of himself. His dilated pupils make the whites of his eyes shine in the moonlight.

I stare at him, daring him to keep going, keeping my lips pressed together. He runs his hand over my hips, keeping a firm hold on them as he reaches his other hand around and grips my ass. He pulls his legs up so I’m trapped within him and arches his hips. “What are you going to do, sweetheart?” he taunts. “Run back to Maison?”

I shake my head and bile hits my throat. “Micah, what is wrong with you? You need to stop. Is Maison the reason why you’re acting like this?”

Maison must have triggered him, caused this manic behavior.