Page 81 of Make Me Dream of You

He glares at her, an unmoving lump in the bed, then looks at me with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

“We’ll talk. Soon,” he says, jaw clenched, then shuts the door.

He looks at me with the same hard look all throughout dinner, chewing his steak like he has a personal vendetta against this cow.

Everyone else talks around us but he’s silent. Eyes on me. Drilling into my skull and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I look away, try to focus on anyone else, anything else. But I still feel his eyes. And when I glance back, he hasn’t moved.

Most everyone seems content to stay up and drink, Wood offers to start another fire on the beach. I excuse myself to bed and quietly go up the stairs.

I hear him behind me, half a flight down.

Heart racing, I grip the handrail. His footsteps on the wood treads echo mine as he follows me up to the third floor in darkness.

I don’t dare turn around and look at him until I get to the landing. When I do, he’s only a few steps down, in shadow. Why isn’t he saying anything.

For some reason I don’t want to turn my back to him again, so I step backward, slowly, toward my room as he comes up the stairs. We never break eye contact. As he steps into the hall, I have to tilt my head to look at him. Heart thumping. His tattooed throat bobs.

I back into my darkened room, and he follows me. The light from the moon casts a cold, blue light onto the angles of his face. He looks…different. His eyes have a certain wildness in them that I haven’t seen since…since I walked in on him stroking himself. Heat rises in my cheeks.

Noah shuts the door behind us, and now we’re alone.

And then he looks at me. Silently we make eye contact, and I have no idea what’s going on here. My heart thuds loudly.

He steps toward me, not breaking his stare, not blinking. I stagger back and run into the bed. Caught off guard, I fall backward onto the mattress.

Noah keeps moving forward and sits on the bed next to me. Not a new thing, but the air is entirely different. The mattress sinks under his weight and pulls me to him. My knee presses against his thigh.

“What—”

“I know who you are,” he whispers.

I tilt my head. Huh?

“You’re nothing like I thought you’d be,” he continues. “You’re so much more and so much better than I could have even dreamed.”

“Noah, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you know who I am?” He turns over his wrist and shows me a small tattoo of a devil face with two large horns.

“You’re Noah Dixon. What do you mean do I know who you are? Is there something else I’m supposed to know about you?”

“You said you wanted to meet. Here I am, Angel.” He tilts his head, the light catching his dark blue eyes.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

My stomach drops. He grins wickedly, the sharp cut of his bicuspid contrasting against his soft lower lip. My heart is racing, having put the pieces together before my brain can comprehend it.

Bex barges in, banging the door against the frame, a fluffy pillow under her arm.

She throws the pillow at Noah with a grunt. “I’m sleeping in here tonight. Go away, Noah, she needs to rest.”

“We were talking.” He glares at her.

My mind is still spinning, heat erupting from my chest to my ears.

“Time’s up.” She picks her pillow up from the floor and flings herself on the bed. “You can talk tomorrow.” She pulls the covers over her as she rolls to her side, huffing.

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