Page 107 of Dare

One. Two. Three.

I turned. There she came, charging toward me like a firebolt in that fucking gorgeous dress, with that fucking gorgeous glare. Flare’s wet hair was plastered to her cheeks, the flower in her hair sagged, and her eyes blazed.

She looked freshly inflamed. Or freshly fucked.

Rough. Fast. Angry.

No. I could not escape her. In fact, nostalgia struck me as she stormed my way. How long had it been since we last feuded? We were overdue for an altercation.

“Jeryn!” she grated, getting in my face. “Talk to me!”

“We talked,” I shouted through the tempest. “You were there.”

“Admit you’re lying! Admit there’s more!”

“I can’t!”

“Why?”

“Because—”

“Why?”

“Because I’m obsessed!” I bellowed, the rain and ocean rioting around us. “I’m obsessed with everything about you! How your hands are strong one minute and gentle the next. How they grip a weapon one moment, then brush the hair of your enemy in the same breadth. How the sunlight clings to your skin, your lips pinch when you’re about to argue with me, your mouth lifts into a smile when you sleep. How you’ve endured hell for most of your life but look at this world as if it’s made of a thousand colors others can’t see. I’m obsessed with you when I shouldn’t be—because of everything I’ve told you! I’m nothing but ice! And you’re …”

I gave the fuck up, the confession ripping from my throat. “You’re the fucking sun.”

Flare paused. Her features slackened, yet her eyes did something more damning. They shimmered like crushed gold.

Droplets sat on her eyelashes and drenched her gown. My shirt adhered to my chest. We stared at each other, soaked and raw from screaming.

“You’re trapped here with a monster,” I reminded her, my voice as gruff as limestone. “You see beauty in darkness. But here, darkness is your only option.”

In any other circumstance, Flare would never choose me. How could she after everything I had done?

And that’s how I would become your greatest regret.

I had said as much to bait her. Little had I known how correct I would become.

She did not deserve such a fate. She should not have to regret anything.

Least of all me.

I moved to walk away, to vacate the premises before she opened her cursed mouth. Otherwise, I would change my mind and start this mayhem all over again. But before I could stride in the opposite direction—to who the fuck knew where—the scalpel knife at my hip disappeared.

Like a pickpocket, Flare confiscated the only thing that would get me to launch at her. She bolted, taking my weapon hostage and racing with it to the ocean. On a hiss, I shot after her.

Wading through the surf, Flare extended her arm, fixing to toss it. Patience be damned. I sheared through the waves and snatched her wrist. Knee-deep, I whipped the woman around, cinched my free arm around her waist, and crushed her wet fucking body against mine. The tide crashed into us, rivulets of water spilling from my frame onto hers.

With a jolting motion, Flare tried to jerk away. Yet I squeezed until she grunted and surrendered the blade.

I released her wrist and caught the scalpel by the hilt. My free arm remained banded around her, squashing her body against me. We panted into one another. Her irises fired, then sank to my mouth and lurched back up. That small act had my cock jumping, rising to the point of agony.

I’d hauled Flare clear off the sandy floor. Her stomach pumped, slamming against my own.

A plea lit her countenance. A quieter flame.

Fuck me to hell. My mouth tilted closer to hers, my lower lip abutting her own. She inched nearer, curling herself into me.

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