Page 30 of You Belong With Me

I do as I’m told, climbing onto the large bed, sitting on the edge, facing him. Without saying anything, he pulls out an alcohol wipe, tears it open, and smoothes the cold, wet pad over the cut on my neck.

I wince at the sting, and he growls low in his throat. Once the alcohol is dry, he rubs some antiseptic on my cut, then steps back. He studies my throat before his eyes climb up to my face. His expression darkens.

I shift under his scrutiny. I don’t know what he sees, but it can’t be good, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. He reaches up and touches my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. His expression softens, but that tic in his jaw starts pulsing. “What happened?” he asks again. “Did he?—?”

He wants to know how far Gabriel got before he intervened. I just shake my head, then ask my own question. “How did you know to come?”

His gaze continues its journey across my face like he’s studying every detail and trying to commit it to memory. “A couple of people out by the firepit saw you on the balcony, and they came to tell me.”

I nod. Thank God for that.

Lucas leans over me, and pulls the covers back, fluffing the pillows behind me. “Lie down, and get some rest,” he says.

Panic grips me because it sounds like he’s leaving. “Where are you going?”

His jaw tightens. “There’s something I need to finish…”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lucas

I see red.It’s all I can fucking see. There’s a cut on Wyn’s neck, and a bruise forming on her left cheek. Gabriel needs to answer for that shit. I allowed him to leave my bedroom so I could check on Wyn. Now that I know she’s okay, Gabriel needs to be dealt with.

As I move away to go find my cousin, Wyn reaches out and grabs my hand, stopping me. “Please don’t leave,” she whispers.

Fear flares in her moss-green eyes, and seeing that fuckinggutsme.

“I won’t be long,” I say.

She rises up onto her knees and pulls me toward her. Her delicate floral scent wraps around me, and I find myself sucking in a deep breath, pulling that intoxicating fragrance into my lungs.

This girl has me fucked up inside, and I feel so damn lost.

“Stay with me,” she says, threading her fingers through mine, tugging me a fraction closer. “Please.”

My muscles are tight, my body rigid as I try—and fail—to resist her siren pull. Goddamn, this chick. With anger stillburning in my stomach, I lean into her. Her head tilts up, her lips moist are so damn tempting, it hurts.

“Five minutes,” I say. Any longer than a few minutes and there’s no telling what I’ll do. Because when I’m around Wyn, restraint isn’t a thing.

She smiles, just faintly, but that smile reaches into my chest and squeezes my dead heart back to life. She leans against the pillows, and I settle in next to her, my back against the headboard, hands clasped over my stomach. If I touch her, I know for a fucking fact, I won’t be able to stop myself from taking it further.

My gaze falls to the bandage on her arm, and I nod at it. “What happened to your arm?”

She places a hand over it self-consciously. “Oh, nothing. Just a cut.”

I eye her suspiciously. “Strange place for a cut. Take the bandage off.”

She hesitates, but ultimately, she does as she’s told. Good girl. She’s learning. When she pulls the bandage off, I can see the cut is thin and straight. Looks like it’s from a razor blade. “You did that to yourself,” I say, and I can feel myself scowling.

She doesn’t answer, and my gaze flicks up to meet hers. “Don’t do this again,” I say. “If it’s pain you crave, then I’ll be the one to give it to you.”

There’s a stretch of silence before she says, “Is that a promise?”

I have no place making these kinds of promises, but I find myself agreeing anyway because I can’t stand the thought of her finding the bliss of pain elsewhere. “Yes,” I growl.

“Okay, then, I guess we have a deal,” she says, flipping onto her side, hands tucked under her head. Her dress is short, and the skirt rides up, revealing the curve of one creamy thigh.

Fucking-A.

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