Page 56 of Only With You

I shift from one foot to the other, hating the way her eyes bore into me. I’m used to her contemptuous looks filled with hatred, but this isn’t something I’m used to.

“Was I not clear enough?”

“No. Say it again. I blinked.”

I glower at her. “What does you blinking have anything to do with you not hearing what I said?”

A haughty, obnoxious smirk lifts on her lips. “It just does.”

That makes no sense and now she’s really pissing me off. She knows it and I’m pretty sure she’s waiting for me to go off. No one pushes my buttons more than Julianna fucking Sparks. She just loves to act like a brat.

“I’m not going to repeat myself again.”

“It was worth a try.” She directs her attention back to the chicken, but I can’t bring myself to focus on anything else because of what appears on her face.

Her lips curl upward in what looks like a…genuine smile?

When I blink, I’m surprised to find it’s still there. It’s broad and so bright, I can feel the warmth that emanates from it.

I’ve never been on the receiving end of them. She smiled at me at Liquid, but I know that was the alcohol. This one is different. I’ve never deserved or cared for them, but I’ll admit…it’s pretty.

The atmosphere feels hot and thick, causing pressure to build in my chest.

Fucking heartburn. Shouldn’t have eaten those spicy crisps last night.

I dip my head to fully see her face, and still the smile lingers. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” she asks, setting the knife in the sink, and washes her hands.

“That thing on your lips. Julianna Sparks, are you smiling at me?”

Her eyes grow and as if she realises what she’s doing, her lips cast downward and she turns her back to me. “What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You are,” I argue, standing right behind her.

“I’m not,” she counters firmly and turns to look up at me.

My breath hitches.

The smile is back, but now it’s small, soft, and shy.

But that’s not the only thing that’s different. The space between us feels oddly magnetic, like there’s an invisible stringpulling us toward each other, and it isn’t gentle either. It feelsoverwhelminglyhot, rough, and desperate.

“You were smiling for me.”

“You’re seeing things.” Her gaze slides to my lips, as do mine, and temptation bites the air between us.

My fingers flex at my sides, coaxing me to reach out to her, but the sensible part of me smacks across the face. Reminding me that nothing good would come out of whatever is happening right now.

We’re chaotically inflammable.

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