Page 5 of Yours

“You’re wrong,” I say, piling the broken pieces into my palm. “I’m not falling for your charms again. Do you even remember me trying to kiss you back when I left for boarding school?”

His face stills. “Of course I do.”

“You humiliated me,” I say, anger coursing through my veins.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice genuine. “But that was a long time ago,” he adds, giving me a long look. “It’s different now.”

“How?” I ask. “I’m still the same person.”

His eyes glint. “Maybe on the inside, and that’s what makes you so attractive. But what I see is a lot different.” He scans my curves.

I want to believe these words mean something, but I’m too afraid. I jab the last piece of plate into my pile, but it slices into the flesh alongside my thumb.

I cry out, dropping the shards to the floor. Grabbing the wound, I try to staunch the sudden flow of blood.

A worried look seizes his features, and he helps me rise to my feet.

“Let me see it,” he says, cupping my hand with his.

Grimacing, I reveal the wound. A two-inch-long cut beads with blood. Brian grabs a paper towel from under the sink, then presses it to the wound.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment, his eyes connecting with mine.

I nod.

“Good,” he says. “I don’t think you need stitches,” he says. “You got a first aid kit?” he asks.

“In the bathroom cabinet,” I say.

He dashes off, returning with the small rectangular box. Meanwhile, I’ve been holding pressure on the wound. I hope it stops bleeding soon, because I don’t want to go to the hospital.

He wets a paper towel, then gently cleans my cut. The water stings, and I wince. He dries the skin around the wound and applies a few strips across the middle, to close it, then adds two large bandages, smoothing the adhesive so it sticks.

“Thanks,” I say, my neck flushing again at the feel of his touch.

He closes the first aid kit before setting it aside.

“I got carried away,” he says with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, confused by what I’m feeling. I should be able to resist him after how he made me feel those years ago. But what he said to me still rings in my head.You liked it.How could he have known this? I shake my head. I’m just tired. I couldn’t want him to hurt me—that’s not normal.

What do you say we find out just what else you might like?

I practically groan out loud, realizing my core has heated up, sending tingling bolts of electricity over my skin. The place between my thighs is throbbing.

He raises his eyebrows at me. I realize I’m sending him conflicting signals.

“Everything okay out there?” a voice calls from the end of the hall, startling us both.

“Fine,” we both call out, then laugh.

“When did you stop wearing glasses?” he asks.

“Last year,” I say. It took me forever to get over the feeling of touching my eyeball when putting in my contacts.

“You look different,” he says.

“I can wear my glasses again if you want,” I tease, then wish I hadn’t.

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