Page 64 of The Enemy: Extended Edition

In the next moment, June runs full tilt across the apartment, and I’m given barely a moment to brace for impact. She launches herself at me, and I’m not sure if she was intending to knock me over or knock the breath out of me, but neither happens. I catch her easily, and she wraps her legs around me. All my funny thoughts rush back.

June puts her hands around my throat and makes a face like she’s preparing to squeeze the life out of me. “Any last words?”

“It’s washable.”

Her eyes narrow into green venomous slits, but I can see the corners of her mustache twitching. Her mind whirls with ideas of coating my toothbrush in vinegar, mixing soy sauce with milk until it looks exactly like coffee, and putting plastic wrap across the toilet bowl. I read her thoughts like a book—even the lines she wants to keep hidden.

She squeezes my neck a little and crinkles her nose like she’s really going to make this strangle count. But then her shoulders drop, and her grip slackens. She brushes her thumbs slowly across my pulse points below my jaw. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I knew you were only after me for my looks.”

Her smile softens, and she tilts her head to the side. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re not my enemy anymore.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

I carry her into the bathroom and set her down beside the sink.

She watches silently as I dab a little face wash on a rag and cover it with water. Her emerald stare is fixed on my face as I start gently wiping away the marks I left. I want to wipe away the ones I can’t see below her skin too.

June watches me closely, barely breathing. The air is reacting between us. Currents are rippling. Humming. Pulling. I’m caught in the undertow of water that is not blue, but effervescent green.

CHAPTER 26

June

I need Ryan, and that scares me.

But right now, I don’t want to be scared. I want to fly. I spread my wings around him and pull Ryan closer. His hands catch my waist, and I feel the tension flowing out of his fingers as they press into my sides. His eyes skate over my face, and I almost can’t believe we even made it to this place.

Ryan’s mouth hovers in front of me for what feels like eons. I’m dying, literally dying for him to close the gap and claim my lips.

In his eyes, I see flakes of black and gold. Hues I’ve never noticed before. I put my hands around his ribs and try to tug him a little closer while simultaneously inching my lips toward his. He tucks his chin back an inch, though, and smiles at his own restraint. He’s drawing this out, and even my bones are aching for him.

“Ryan,” I say in a quiet plea.

His hand laces into the back of my hair as his brows dip together to study me, considering something heavy behind his dark eyes. I feel dramatic—like maybe the women at the bar actually knew the truth all along, and Ryan really does hold all the world’s oxygen supply. I will suffocate if his mouth doesn’t touch mine.

“I don’t want to be just a random date, June. I want more.”

There’s nothing but truth in his eyes, and I can’t hold mine in any longer. As if I’m afraid he’s going to disappear before my eyes, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and hold him right here. Me. Stay with me.

“I want you to be more than a random date too.”

Those words are a key.

Ryan cups my jaw and holds on to me as he presses his warm mouth to mine. He somehow defies physics, making time stop around us, and all that’s left is Ryan rushing through my senses.

It’s a slow dance, this kiss. Not a selfish act of affection, not driven by lust; but an outpouring of a man’s heart like I’ve never experienced before. Our lips sway in graceful fluid motions, pushing and pulling, giving and taking. Ryan’s thumb brushes from my jaw to my mouth, softly parting my lips and deepening the kiss. Like a spark catching on the end of a wick, fire rushes from my curled toes all the way up to my fingers threaded through the back of Ryan’s amazing hair. I breathe in the cool scent of his masculine bodywash, letting it surround me as I try to etch every detail of this moment into my heart, determined to replay it every day for the rest of my life.

Calloused hands run down the length of my arms and settle around my waist, striking every nerve ending in my body as they move. Without words, he tells me he adores me, cares for me, desires me. I can feel it in the possessive caress of his lips, and in the way his fingertips slide down and press into my hips, firm yet gentle—as if he’s afraid I might shatter. But actually, it’s the tenderness of this moment that breaks me in half.

Ryan could be picking me up and carrying me to his room, but he’s not. He senses my unease and coddles me instead. I’ve always struggled with the idea of my curves, but with Ryan’s hands on them, they feel empowering and feminine. His fervent attention to the parts of my hips and thighs that squish and dimple makes me feel dizzy. Like they’re not unwanted, but essential.

His strong arms encircle me and draw me in closer, scooting me toward the edge of the counter. The cotton T-shirt hugging his body is soft against my skin as I run my hands up his firm chest and settle them over the tense, bunching muscles in his shoulders. Part of me wants to set the restraint I feel in him free, and part of me is too scared to.

Our kiss picks up. His hands slide under my shirt to my back. I touch his hair. His shoulders. Bunch his shirt.

Ryan groans and abruptly breaks the seal of our mouths to bury his face in my neck, pressing his palms down onto the counter beside my hips. After a deep breath, his arms slide around my back until he is fully encapsulating me in what can only be described as a bear hug. My breath continues to race in my chest as I sit awestruck, held by a man I thought I’d never be able to have.

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