Page 23 of Five Days

A bolt of awareness, a sense of ownership I’d felt for him once upon a time, zapped through me, raising the hairs on my nape. I fought to keep from shifting on my chair at the unpleasant yet addictive feeling.

His arm fell to his side, his shoulders hitching up near his ears.

At least the kid wasn’t cocky in finally having pinned me down thanks to my goddamn client. Still, he moved with lethal grace like a big cat on the prowl, sleek lines and sexy as hell shifting of muscles that made my groin pulse with the need to bury deep and claim.

Landon was a goddamn treat for my starved, aching body, and I lusted to burrow so far up his ass that I tickled his goddamned tonsils while ripping my teeth into his neck.

A muscle ticked in my jaw as he drew closer, those gorgeous eyes of his ensnaring me, making me want to agree to whatever his selfish little heart desired.

But, once bitten, twice shy and all that shit, so fuck whatever trap his deviousness readied for my soul.

I raised my chin and stared the fucker down regardless that my shield of self-preservation felt like nothing more than a flimsy sheet of foil.

He slid into the seat across from me, our gazes latched tight. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Fuck, even his low husky voice moved through me like a promising caress, causing tingles to sizzle in my blood.

“Not like I have much choice.” I refused to acknowledge the way the sweet scent of him filled my mouth with excess saliva too. “Your friend hired me, and if I want to keep my job, I please the client.”

I chose to ignore the glimpse of a grimace on Landon’s mouth, since I’d intended for my crock-of-shit words to sting. One call, and I could end this mess.

So why hadn’t I?

“How long have you been an escort?” he asked rather than apologizing yet again like I’d expected.

“Couple of years.” I wasn’t up for a reconnection chat, nor did I trust him with my personal shit, but as long as he got what he needed to finally let me go…

I reminded myself I was desperate to be free of his constant resurfacing in my life, that having set eyes on him hadn’t changed that fact.

“Do you like it?”

Frowning, I sipped my coffee while eyeing the inquisitive asshole who sat as rigid as I did. I had no fucking clue what game he played, but exhaustion from a near sleepless night swayed my mind to go with whatever the fuck this was.

I’d had enough.

“Cut it with the small talk.” I grunted the words and set my mug aside. It was time to end this shit between us so I could attempt to move on—eradicate that piece of my heart he still owned. “I’m not interested. Say what you have to so I can go find your gorgeous assistant-slash-best friend, invite him back to my room, and earn every penny he paid me. Ass, dick, mouth—I’ll gladly take whatever he’ll give me because he’s so damn hot.”

Rather than reacting or scowling in jealousy like I’d hoped for, Landon shifted on his chair and bit his lower lip.

Did the idea of me and Callum fucking turn him on?

I raised an eyebrow, not exactly hating the resurgence of lust in my groin by thoughts of dicking Callum down while Landon watched.

His face flushed a rosy pink at my knowing look. He cleared his throat, glancing away. “I won’t apologize again.”

“Good because words don’t mean shit when it comes to broken trust.”

He nodded as though agreeing, settling the slightest bit as a slow, steady exhale slumped his shoulders. His gaze latched onto my eyes again. Festering hurt radiated toward me with grasping fingers as though trying to tractor beam me into what we’d once shared. “I didn’t want you to leave our home back then.”

“Bullshit,” I bit out, fighting hard to keep my crumbling walls in place even though Callum had basically said the same thing. Excuses. End of. “You told me to go that night. Screamed it, in fact, which brought your father running. In true brat form, you threw a tantrum because I wouldn’t give you what you wanted.”

Liquid turned Landon’s eyes into whiskey rather than glinting amber.

Tears had been my downfall when it came to him. Every. Fucking. Time.

“Don’t fucking attempt to manipulate me with emotions,” I growled, remembering how he’d done so too often when we’d been kids.

“I’m not,” he snapped, the sheen of wetness lingering over his expressive orbs. “I reacted out of fear, not because you denied me. You were the only person in my life who gave me attention and looked out for me. You knew me inside and out—that I was gay. You had my back when I finally told my parents that year too, standing firm by my side. You did nothing but encourage me when I started writing stories to lose myself in. It was you who influenced me to follow my dreams.”

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