Page 20 of Better Watch Out

Part of me really wants to argue with his threat. To tell him he can’t make me cry anymore. But with the look on his face and the heat behind his dark eyes…suddenly I’m not so sure.

Add that to the fact he’sa murdererand my stomach is fluttering with fearful anticipation. I may be stupid, but I like to think once in a while I know when to back down.

“Sorry.” The word comes out in a soft murmur.

“For what?” God, he’s going to enjoy this, I can tell.

It’s hard to stay still, and I find myself squirming under him, hyper-aware of where his hand holds my wrists together over my chest and his other hand is planted on my stomach, fingers splayed there. “I’m sorry for trying to hit you again.” I hate the way it feels, the way the apology makes my throat burn.

“What else?”

My eyes flick to his and I open my mouth to tell him there is nothing else. But that something dark still glitters behind his gaze, turning him from the Boone I remember into something else. Something more akin to a predator than the brother I know and don’t love.

When I don’t immediately answer, Boone shrugs and lifts his hand, using his teeth to take off his glove before his hand slides under my shirts, shoving them upward. “Wait, wait!” I yelp, realizing he’s definitely not bluffing. “Okay, okay wait!” I can’t break out of his iron grip, and all I can do is clamp my thighs tight around him, which does absolutely nothing to push him away. “I’m sorry for taking Cheryl’s car. Especially in the snow.”

“Because you’re a bad winter driver,” Boone purrs. “Right?”

Humiliation burns in my veins but I nod. “Because I’m a shitty winter driver. I’m sorry for that too, okay?” I hate the way it feels to have him staring down at me and forcing me to admit my mistakes and flaws. I hate the way heat burns in my face, making it impossible for me to stay still.

While I have no idea what he’s looking for, apparently he finds it somewhere in my expression. He lets go of my hands and removes his fingers from under my shirt, though instead of pulling away he leans forward, twisting his fingers in the front of my hoodie as he pulls me up enough that my back arches off the seat.

“Good girl,” Boone purrs. “See? I knew you could be this way for me. If I have to threaten you, embarrass you, or do whatever else to make you get there, I don’t mind.” Excitement dances in his gaze, and I canfeelhim trembling over me with unspent restless energy.

Boone really can’t sit still, no matter the situation, and absently I wonder if he’s this active in his sleep.

“I hate you,” I finally manage to whisper. “Did you know that?”

“Youthinkyou hate me,” he corrects. “Now I’m going to kiss you, and if you bite me, you’re going to leave this Jeep crying. Do you understand me?” I barely hesitate, my chin dipping in a jerky nod. “Good fucking girl. Good snow bunny,” he coos, leaning closer. It’s only seconds before his lips brush against mine, but he isn’t like Fletcher. He isn’tpatientlike our other brother.

But that doesn’t make him bad at this in the least. His kiss starts off soft for maybe a heartbeat, before he shoves me back down to the seat and lets himself fall down, his big body blanketing mine. He growls into the kiss, nipping at my lower lip until I open my mouth in surrender.

And he doesn’t stop. That’s not good enough for him, judging by the way he licks the inside of my mouth, trying to claim and taste every inch of space between my lips. My breathing turns heavy, coming in sharp pants that cause my chest to press against his. I’ve never been kissed like this; like the other person wants to devour me with starving desperation.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but I find myself losing my resolve, tilting my head back at his urging, and closing my eyes as I all but space out under the feeling of his mouth.

“No, not this time.” Boone pulls back with a chuckle, nipping at my lower lip hard enough I yelp in painful surprise. “Don’t go anywhere on me, Conor.” His voice is rough and husky, like he’s having trouble getting the words out. “Fletch will kill me if I tear your clothes off and fuck you in the back of Cheryl’s Jeep.”

His words cause a shudder to go through me and I groan, closing my eyes and throwing my arm over my face. “You’re the worst. Don’t say shit like that, Boone. You’re my stepbrother.” But the words are dry and brittle even before they make it out of my mouth. We both know that’s not really an issue.

Peeking through my fingers I see he’s staring down at me, unimpressed. “Uh huh,” he agrees sarcastically. “Sure. That’s the hangup here.” Rolling his eyes, he hesitates then shakes his head like he’s having to convince himself to move. But when he does, it’s to kick the door open and slide to the ground, slamming the door before I can do the same.

Seconds later, he’s in the driver’s seat and the engine purrs to life while I stare up at the roof and try to stave off an existential crisis through willpower and the remaining taste of Boone on my lips. “You’re the worst.” The words are muttered, and I close my eyes before adjusting so my hand is once more obscuring my face.

His chuckle is soft over the roar of the heat blasting from the vents. “Good. I don’t strive to be anything less.”

I don’t realize I’ve dozed off until the SUV comes to a stop and Boone slams the Jeep into park. Surprised, I gasp and jerk upward, my hair a mess and skin too-warm under my layers. “Are we…?” I look up, expecting to see the house and Fletcher glaring at us from the porch. He’s definitely the one who would do it, staring at us like a disappointed parent and ready to read us problematic children the riot act.

But instead, we’re in front of the one diner in town that’s still open even in this weather and with all the snow on the ground. Confusion ripples through me as I comb my fingers through my mess of long auburn hair, most of it having escaped from its ponytail. Realizing that, I tug the hair elastic free, figuring at this point it’s a waste of time and I’ll look better without it.

Maybe a little feral, given that I hadn’t straightened my hair after yesterday’s shower. But better than in a weird, skewed ponytail with my hair sticking out at all angles. “What are we doing?” I mumble, one leg up under me as I blink to clear my eyes of sleep.

“Well, sleepyhead. You missed it, but Fletcher called and said we were going to have lunch. He took Sitka home for you, since I doubt Marietta will let her in, unfortunately. So I took the long way to let you sleep. You’re kind of like an infant, you know?” He turns in his seat and I contemplate kicking it like a toddler on an airplane. “The more I drive the more you snore.”

“I don’t snore,” I can’t help but snap in response.

“Oh, you so snore.” Boone gets out of the SUV, closing the door easily behind him, then yanks mine open and stands there, arms crossed. “We’re not going to fight about this, right?” He sighs. “Because I’m tired of you starting fights where I can’t finish them. Come on. I know you’re hungry, and I’m hungry.” He waits, giving me space to crawl out of the back seat and adds, “Fletcher probably isn’t hungry, but that’s because he survives off of spite and the emotional pain of others.”

That makes me snort, and I look up at him, head tilted. “I didn’t think you were legally allowed to talk badly about him.”

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