Page 28 of Stolen Summer

And yet there was something beautiful and alluring about the drawing. Or maybe it was me. I couldn’t decide.

I ran a light finger over the curve of my hip, outlined by the blanket smudged with charcoal.

Was this how he saw me?

“What are you doing?”

The harsh snap of his voice startled me. I immediately dropped the book, and it snapped closed on the table. I angled my head toward Cole, looking guilty as sin, and the feeling made me as grumpy as he appeared. Actually, his expression tipped more on the sinister-murderous scale. “Nothing” I grumbled, matching his tone.

He towered over me, and I didn’t like the position. It made me feel small. “Really, because it looked like you were snooping,” he said roughly, eyes flicking to the sketchbook.

I snorted and shoved to my feet, not that it gave me more of an advantage. The dick still loomed above me. “Is it any different than you not asking my permission before drawing me?” I countered.

He frowned heavily. “Don’t go through my shit.”

“How do you know I haven’t already been through your shit?” What was wrong with me? Why did I have this urge to challenge him? I must be itching for a fight. I had no other reason for pushing Cole. Something in his thorny expression made me want to test him.

How far would he go?

The way people reacted in heated situations could tell you a lot about them. I knew plenty of guys who would hit a girl for saying less. Considering Cole had already choked and nearly drowned me, pushing his buttons probably wasn’t the sanest move on my part.

But what was it about him that made me want to push all his buttons? I felt like a kid in an elevator, unable to resist hitting every glowing numbered floor.

It probably said more about me than him.

I had issues. Clearly.

A deep-seated compulsion to be punished.

His hand whipped out, wrapping around my wrist, and he yanked, sending me nearly toppling into him. We were too damn close now. Through the material of my borrowed tee, my nipples brushed against his hard chest. “What else have your sticky fingers touched?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I sneered.

For a few long, tense moments, we only stared at each other, my breathing uneven and too quick. My chest rose and fell, creating friction between my nipples and his chest I definitely didn’t want to think about. Except now that I was aware of the sensation, my body reacted, nipples budding, and a warmth spread through me. I licked my lips, the worst possible thing I could do, for it brought attention to my mouth.

His eyes darkened. Or it could have been the lighting. I had a difficult time telling, but what wasn’t hard to see was that they lingered on my lips.

He wouldn’t dare try to kiss me.

Right?

My confidence wavered when I thought about our first encounter in the pool. The only thing I could be certain of was I didn’t know what Cole would do or what he was capable of other than constantly surprising me.

He released me, shoving a hand through his hair.

I narrowed my eyes at him and glared, but I wasn’t sure if I was mad at him or me. Him for being an asshole or me for missing the warmth of his body. “You don’t always have to be such a dick. It’s natural to be curious.”

He lifted a brow.

“And don’t give me some cheesy line about curiosity killing the cat,” I added.

A ghost of a smirk twitched at his lips. “Your words, not mine, Killer.”

Fuck, he is maddening.

“Are you coming?” he tossed over his shoulder, his gaze meeting mine for a moment before he disappeared around the corner, leaving me to decide.

I stewed in the room, staring at the spot where he’d been, caught between dashing after him or tearing the pages out of his book and tossing them into the fire. A growl of frustration rumbled up my throat. “I hate hurricanes,” I grumbled, snatching the flashlight and going into the hallway after him.

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