Page 220 of Tell Me Something True

Tipping his head back, teeth clenched once again, he ran through all the ways she was out of his league. All the reasons why he was no good for her. How being with him would bring her down. Hold her back.

How being with him would destroy her.

If she didn’t destroy him first.

Then, he glanced down to find her awake and staring at him, her hair poofy and tangled, her lips parted, her warm breath washing over his chin, her eyes sleepy and soft.

And couldn’t help but think that his total and complete destruction would be worth it.

If she was the one annihilating him.

Sunlight filtered in through the window, weak and muted from the overcast morning, but it still managed to cast Verity in its glow, as if she was lit from within. This close, he could count the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Could see the gold surrounding the burst of brown in the blue of her right eye. That her left eye had a similar color pattern, but the brown spot was smaller. Lighter.

This close, he could feel the beat of her heart, quick and unsteady, against his chest. Could hear the shakiness of her exhale as she lifted her hand to his face.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, barely a whisper of sound as she skimmed her fingertips just above his cut eyebrow. “I’m so sorry someone hurt you.”

He shut his good eye, hating the sympathy in her gaze. Unable to face her kindness.

Not strong enough to handle the emotions roiling through him.

But when she started to slide her hand away, his eye flew open and he tightened his hold on her waist.

Her eyes widened, her breath caught, the sound of it like a starter gun going off at the beginning of a race.

Permission for him to do what he wanted.

To take what he shouldn’t.

She could still be only half awake, he tried to tell himself as he stabbed his hand into her silky hair, cupping the back of her head. She might not be fully aware of what was happening.

But she was watching him in that intense, I see past all your bullshit and into the very heart of you way of hers. And she’d slid her hand to his shoulder, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck.

She flicked her gaze down to his mouth. Sank her upper teeth into the right side of her lower lip.

He wished she’d do or say something to stop him. Then he wouldn’t be slowly drawing her head toward his. His heart wouldn’t be pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. His hands wouldn’t be shaking. His pain wouldn’t somehow be diminished simply because he was touching her.

He wouldn’t have this weird, tumbling sensation in his stomach.

Like he was falling too fast to stop himself.

It was just a kiss. She’d told him before he could kiss her. That she’d wanted him to. That was all this was.

All he’d take from her.

Just this once, he promised himself, desperate to believe it.

Their noses touched. Their breath mingled. Their lips barely, barely brushed…

And someone knocked, hard, on her bedroom door.

She jerked upright, and for a moment, his hold on her hair tightened, a reflexive action to keep her close.

To take that kiss no matter who was knocking.

No matter what happened after it.

Then he got his head out of his ass and snatched both of his hands off her so fast, she tumbled forward, catching herself with one hand on his chest, her other one pressing against his side where his old man had gotten in a lucky kick.

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