Page 61 of Crossover

“Stop calling me that.”

Grayson stepped even closer to me, sliding his hands into his pockets as he stared down at me beneath his baseball cap. The shadows played across his chiseled features, his jade-hued gaze intense and unwavering.

Tousled strands of dark hair peeked out, tempting my fingers to reach up and tangle in them. I fought the urge to press my palms against his firm chest, cursing the undeniable chemistry between us.

“You killing that guy. It doesn’t change anything,” I claimed. “I will never stop hating you for what you did to my father.”

Keep telling yourself that, Ivy. Maybe if you say it enough, it’ll finally stick.

Grayson’s head gave the slightest hint of a nod as he ran a thumb over his lower lip—distracting me by the simple yet sensual move, by the way—and when he spoke, his voice was dangerously raw, igniting a fire within me.

“Ivy, I have no hope of you not hating me. In fact, it’s the opposite.” He took another step toward me, the heat radiating from his body making my pulse quicken, my skin tingling with anticipation.

Desperate to maintain my resolve, I matched his step, only to find my back pressed against the wall, trapped between the cool surface and the intoxicating warmth of his chest. Meanwhile, the faint scent of his cologne decided to antagonize me even more, clouding my senses and weakening my defenses.

Grayson, looking like a Greek god carved from marble, placed his palm on the wall next to my head, his serious expression doing little to mask the raw desire in his eyes.

“I need you to hate me,” he said, his grainy voice laced with authority, sending a delicious shiver down my back.

Could he hear how loud my heart was banging in my ears? My throat was instantly dry, his proximity making it hard to breathe, let alone think straight.

“Because I hate myself for what I did to you.” He paused. “But I don’t trust myself if you ever opened the door to me.” He stepped back, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving me cold and aching for his touch. “I don’t deserve you. But I will never stop wanting you, so listen carefully. Hold on to that hate.”

35

IVY

Okay, it was desperately official. I needed space from my assassin/bodyguard. Seriously, my mental capacity to make good decisions was deteriorating faster than the roof at that gas station from hell. Between the lack of sleep, the trauma, and the perpetual fight-or-flight mode, my grasp on what love should feel like was polluted.

I needed to breathe clean oxygen to reset my mind, so I could handle the nextwhatever the hell was about to happen, and to do that, I needed to get away from Grayson.

Now.

Unfortunately for me, the universe was a snarky bitch, because at the exact moment Grayson turned to leave, my stomach exploded with the loudest growl in human history.

His smoldering gaze snapped first to my midsection, then to my face, his granite jaw clenching in disapproval.

“You never ate dinner last night, did you?” he accused.

I’m sorry, who can eat a cheeseburger when the CIA might have sniper rifles trained on your mother’s head? Answer: not me.

“Stay here,” he ordered, stepping to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

For a second, I shut my eyes.

Come back to me, you trusty emotion of loathing him. Hell, I’d settle for dislike if this moral lawsuit settled out of court.

A few seconds later, the door barged open.

“Let’s go.”

I blinked. “What?”

“No vending machines here. Let’s go.”

A pause stilled between us.

“Leave?” I shook my head. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay and wait for my mom.” And shower off this grime and guilt.

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