Page 75 of Stolen Dreams

So now you want to talk.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to respond as another message comes through.

Now you want me. Convenient.

TWENTY-ONE

KAYA

My body vibrateswith frustration as I stare down at the screen.

I always want you, Fire Eyes.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” I grumble as my fingers aggressively tap out a response.

Could’ve fooled me.

I need to see you. Tonight.

Please

He must be joking. Four days and not a single word. Had the cooking classes been in session this week, we would’ve been forced to deal with what happened sooner. We may have talked like civilized people.

But it’s been four days, and every minute that’s ticked by has festered the wound he inflicted.

Why?

He wants to see me, talk with me face to face, apologize in person. My nice side would give him the opportunity. But she left the building, and I refuse to make this easy for him. What he did hurt. So if he really wants me, if I am more than some conquest, he needs to prove it.

Because apologizing in a text message is unacceptable. You deserve better.

Good start.

At least we agree on one thing. I do deserve better.

Adriel would be an ideal match. His passion for helping people supersedes his intelligence and makes him infinitely more attractive. He’s young, has a clear picture of his future—I only know this because my parents asked a barrage of personal questions at dinner—and is the most ambitious doctor I’ve met outside my family. I could follow my parents’ insistence on a relationship with Adriel and be happy.

But in the process, I’d sacrifice other things I want in life. Like deep-rooted passion that only comes with falling in love with the personyouchoose. The fire that simmers just beneath the surface when your person is nearby. The constant need for more and feeling like you’ll never get enough.

I could be happy with Adriel, but he isn’t whoIwant.

If Ray craves me the way he says he does, he needs to fight—for me, for him, for us, for what we could be. His energy, his desires, need to match mine. Because I refuse to settle for less.

Do you want him?

It’s as if he hears my thoughts.

Do you really want me to answer that?

You don’t

Those two words reek of arrogance. Cocky bastard.

No worries. I bite too.

Don’t be so sure.

Three dots dance in a gray bubble as he types a response. Minutes pass and the screen dims. The bubble disappears and reappears again and again. By the time his message comes through, I expect a novel.

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