Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“No, thanks.” Instead, he pulls a bottle of water from the fridge and downs half before sitting. Will there ever be a time when I don't feel fluttery and tingly when I'm close to him? I can't forget the way he kisses, and I can't stop craving it. The thrill of giving myself over to something that makes me weak and breathless. I could crawl over the table right now, tear that gray sweater off him, and claw his bare skin to shreds.
Meanwhile, he won't even look at me. How do I break the tension? Somebody was following me today. Actually, there are better conversation starters. He would only pester me until I'd end up wishing I had never said anything. I don't want to walk through life feeling like a victim anymore. That much, I know.
He pushes the bowl of pasta my way so I can take a portion. While I do, I ask, “Do you think you could give me some self-defense lessons?”
“Sure.” He tips his head to the side like he's confused, but at least those deep blue eyes are focused on me.
“I would feel more... like, in control. Strong. Like I could handle myself.” Even if I can barely handle myself now. He must have just gotten out of the shower. His jet-black wet hair looks like he raked it back with his fingers. I want to do that, too. I need to touch him. I need him to hold me and remind me I’m safe in his arms.
I need him to not sound so dismissive when he shrugs. “Whatever will help.”
“Thank you.”
“Speaking of control and handling yourself…” This is it. My skin is tingling, but I don't want to show him how interested I am in whatever's coming next. Let him get the words out. “What happened last night was unacceptable, and you won't see me like that again. Ever.”
“Romero...” I laugh a little, because he's got to be joking, right? “You didn't commit a crime. You got drunk. It happens.”
“Not me. I don't do that.”
“Then maybe you should every once in a while. It was actually kind of... cute.” That was the wrong choice of words since now I can hear his teeth grinding, and it looks like his skin is suddenly too tight for his body. He's uncomfortable, shifting around in his chair.
“Listen,” I offer when I start to feel bad, “there's nothing wrong with it. I won't hold it against you if that's what you're worried about.”
“Alcohol alters the senses. It screws with your perceptions and your thoughts.”
“Isn't that sort of the point?”
It's a corny thing to say, but it’s my way of letting him off the hook. He doesn’t deserve to feel so guilty for being human. But he’s determined not to see even a tiny bit of humor in this. “No. Maybe for some people, but not for me. And that's the problem. I don't trust myself to lose control like that, ever.”
A tiny tremor runs through me when he lowers his brow and meets my gaze across the table. “And you shouldn't trust me to do it.”
I'm too overwhelmed by him—the deadly serious tone of his voice, the shadows from the overhead light playing across his stony mask of a face—to do anything more than nod my head and go back to eating. If that's how he wants it, that's how it will be. I know better now than to bring it up again if it bothers him that much.
I just wish I understood why he has to be such a mystery. And why I care so damn much.
CHAPTER 21
ROMERO
I don't know what pulls me out of a dark, jumbled dream. A sound. The presence of someone else nearby shifting the energy in the room. All I know, is something makes me wake up with my heart pounding, and the sight of a shadow standing over my bed only makes things worse.
I sit bolt upright before realizing who crept in here and startled the hell out of me. "What is it?" I snap once I recognize Tatum's trembling form in the faint light coming from a full moon streaming through the window behind her.
She wraps her arms around herself and whispers, "I thought I heard something downstairs."
Instinct takes over, and immediately I reach for the loaded gun on the nightstand. Keeping it there is a matter of habit, but her gasp centers me. She won't take her eyes off it.
"Alright," I mutter, loosening my grip and leaving the gun where it is. "Where downstairs?"
"Just downstairs in general, I don't know."
"Stay here. Do not move." Her head bobs up and down, eyes wide. As much as I hate leaving her alone, at least I know she's going to do as she's told. She's too afraid to do anything else.
Slowly, I creep downstairs, almost walking on tiptoe until I reach the bottom step. I'm practically holding my breath, straining my ears to pick up any sounds from around the house. So far, there's nothing, even though I search for any signs of a disturbance—a broken window, a broken lock, anything. I've reached the kitchen and have found nothing out of the ordinary by the time I flip the switch next to the back door. Light spills over the quiet, empty yard. There isn't so much as a wisp of smoke curling up from a cigarette butt to indicate an intruder, and nobody's been tampering with the garage door.