Page 73 of Twisted Collide

Why can’t he look at me and laugh?

When he stares at me, sure, I know he wants me, but I can also tell he hates me for it.

He looks so relaxed at this moment.

Younger too.

It’s evident in the softness of his brow, the lack of lines marring his skin, and even his shoulders are less tense, but it’s his laughter that does me in. Every time the sound escapes his mouth, I can’t help but grin, remembering our time in that bar and the way he acted just like that for me.

Then, a thought hits me in the gut.

I want to be the person to make him laugh, to make him smile. I want to be the reason he lights up a room with his presence.

I dive back under the water, continuing to swim. I go another lap before I emerge again, but this time, I see my father stand from his chair, place his glass down, and move toward the house.

I choose that moment to strike. The pool’s ladder is only a few strokes away, so I head in that direction and then make my way back up onto the ground.

I stride in his direction, feeling like a panther stalking her prey.

“Where did my father go?” I ask, wanting to gauge how much time I have.

“He went inside to help Sherry.”

“So, it’s just us?” I run a finger over my clavicle, drawing it down toward my cleavage.

Small lines crease his face.

“Yes.” He’s angry. He doesn’t want to be left alone with me.

Pool water drips off my body as I make my way closer to where he is.

Finally, I close the gap, standing so close to where he’s sitting that my leg touches his thigh.

I look down at him, hungry and wanting.

He’s watching me. His eyes are stormy, and there is a harsh look in them. It’s hard to see in the dark of the night, but his eyes look black. Like all of the blue has been eaten up and replaced by darkness that matches his mood.

“Hellfire.” A warning.

One I fully intend to ignore.

I reach forward. “Sinclair. Or maybe I should call you Sin?” I smirk.

My hand finds his hand, and his eyes fly to that spot where we touch.

“What are you doing?”

“What we both want me to do.” My words hang in the air, and I wait for him to object, to say this isn’t what he wants. That I’m not what he wants, but he doesn’t speak. He holds my stare, watching me intently.

I take his hand in mine, when our fingers touch, a wave of heat spread through my body.

It’s cold out, but I feel no chill.

Instead, the feeling of skin touching skin sends an electric current through my body.

I move my hand, and he lets me.

My eyes are trained on his, watching him watch me. I can tell he’s wondering what I’ll do. He knows he should stop, but he won’t. He’s too curious. Too caught in my spell.

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