Page 41 of The Wrong Heart

Parker’s eyes dip to my mouth, and his gaze lingers there for a beat longer than expected. When he finds my eyes again, all remnants of humor disintegrate. “Stop doing that.”

I smile bigger. “Nope.”

“It’s obnoxious.”

“It’s contagious.”

“Hardly.” I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow, causing him to reel back with a frown. “Ow.”

“Smile.”

“What? No.”

“You know you want to.”

“Actually… no.”

My smile blooms even brighter. “Please?”

“No.”

When I go to bop him with my elbow again, I’m startled when Parker reaches out and grabs me by the shoulders. His hands slide lower, fingers curling around my upper arms—not too hard, but enough to cause my lungs to expel a stunned breath, my lips parting with a tiny gasp.

Parker’s eyes go straight to those lips as he whispers, “Stop.”

He feels so close, closer than he actually is, and I’m suffocating on his scent. Clean and crisp. My skin warms beneath his fingers, the heat traveling up my chest, my neck, and settling in the apples of my cheeks.

And then I feel it.

Something familiar yet obsolete.

A tingle.

Coiling deep down, sparking to life, and rising from the dead.

There’s a séance going on inside of me.

And I think it should be a good thing, this feeling.

But I’m a little bit horrified, mostly confused, and I’m wondering why the hell he’s still so focused on my mouth when my smile is long gone.

Parker blinks, his eyes skimming back up my face, eyebrows furrowing into his usual scowl, the lines in his face hardening. He releases me like I just burned him.

But I’m honestly not sure who burned who.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he steps away, far away, a vein in his neck bulging. “You’re like the goddamn sun,” he spits out.

The analogy all but stops my heart.

“You’re the sun, Melody March.”

My blood freezes, a winter draft whispering along my skin and burrowing into my bones.

It’s strange. It’s strange how something so precious, so romantic coming from Charlie, can sound so hostile on Parker’s tongue.

It’s an insult.

Gathering my wits, I inhale a rickety breath and wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to subdue the chill. “Bright? Happy?” I offer, knowing full well that’s not what he means.

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