Page 56 of Prickly Romance

“I’m rarely wrong.”

A spark of challenge rises in her gaze.

I shake my head. “Adam, explain it again and slow down for Miss Williams. Use smaller words so she can understand you.”

Adam arches both eyebrows as if he does not wish to get in the middle of this fight.

Miss Williams storms in front of me, her shoulders taut and her jaw clenching. “IsaidI understood.”

“Then show me.” I fold my arms over my chest.

“Fine.” Her slender hands suddenly cup mine, sliding down to my wrist and leaving a path of fire on my skin.

Electricity.

In the music room, I felt it.

But it’s stronger this time.

I snatch my hand away. “What are you doing?”

Adam gives me a puzzled look and I realize I sounded too harsh.

But Dejonae does not react in fear. She doggedly pursues me, wrestling my much larger hand between her palms.

“Scared?” She smirks.

I frown at her, fighting to keep my control. My body has a real, visceral reaction to Dejonae’s touch. It’s hot and intense, spreading from first contact until it singes every inch of me.

Rather than scared, I would say that she rattles me.

And I do not appreciate it.

Laughing softly, Dejonae guides my arm up to her face and sets the tips of my fingers on her neck.

Her skin is smooth.

Soft to the touch.

Temptation.

“The difference between noise and music is vibrations. In its simplest form, music is pleasant vibrations. Noise is bad vibrations.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “Just like a person can give someone else good or bad vibes, music can convey feelings that are real and true. It’s not superstition. It’s nature. It’s energy. It was humanity’s means to survive against big, bad predators like you.”

I scowl at her.

She shifts my hand so it skims lower down her throat, stopping just above her flickering pulse.

Her eyes gleam with confidence.

“Vocal folds produce sound when air passes through them and they vibrate. The vibration is what produces the sound wave of my voice.”

She is too close to me.

Her mouth is full and taunting.

Unwanted heat, plus something visceral and forbidden, twists inside me. I do not know what to make of it, orher.

Perhaps I should not try to unravel that thread.

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