Page 39 of Deceitful Promises

I laugh but then quickly stop when I realize she’s serious. She’s so sweet and innocent. “You’re askingmehow you feel?”

“I’m just asking … in general. I thought I wanted to run, but then—” She stops herself, looking at me in a way that makes me thinkshe was about to sayme. She stayed because of me. Then she says, “I had the most magical time with Molly … Mom.”

“Maybe there’s a peaceful way out of this,” I murmur.

“I thought my brothers were evil?” she says bitterly.

“If you tell them how you feel, and they agree to let you stay with your mom, maybe I was wrong.”

“Just like that? They’ve gone from devils to angels?”

“Let’s not go too far,” I growl.

“They won’tletme do anything,” she says. “If I explain the situation to them, they’ll understand.”

“Then we should have nothing to worry about.”

I have to turn away again. It’s too tempting staring at her with that enticing body, with her slender hipbones emphasizing her natural shape. It’s too easy to imagine sliding my hand down toward her tight?—

“Where are you going?” she says.

“Where else? Bed.”

“Oh.”

Fuck. That gets me to turn around again. Theohis filled with too much potential, too much possible heat. She stands in her adorably awkward way.

“Oh?” I say. “Where else would I be doing?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Is this sleepwalking talk again?” I ask, smirking, trying to make a joke of it.

But this feisty ballerina is in no mood to joke. “I already told you I’m awake.”

“No, I meant … when you were sleepwalking, you wanted things, Ania. Maybe you don’t want me to go because you want those same things?” A husky note comes into my voice. I can’t help it.

She looks at me in a way that makes me think she might as well screamyes. The excitement in her eyes and how she bites down is like she’s getting ready for something. Yet savagely, I know she’s not prepared for how badly I want her. I know I have to be the mature one here. I have to remain in control.

That’s why it’s a bad, fucked-up thing when I grab both her hands in mine, staring down. “Do you know how old I am?”

“No.”

“Guess.”

“Um, twenty-seven?”

“I’m thirty-three, Ania. Do you understand how much a person changes between eighteen and thirty-three?”

“What are you even talking about?” She gets all breathy, almost offended that I’m asking this question, her touch tightening on mine. “We’re just holding hands.”

I lean down toward her, knowing this is my last chance, but fuck. Dammit, what am I supposed to be, some superman with unrealistic discipline?

“We’re going to do more than hold hands.”

“I thought you hated me,” she whispers.

“Same goes for you.”

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