Page 18 of Moth to a Flame

“I don’t know.” The pads of his fingers make contact with my cheek, and I forget how to breathe. “Way I see it, if what I did”—his fingers trail lower, a light press to my jaw—“made you feel good, there’s no reason for me to stop.”

“It felt good toyou.Ijust didn’t suffer.”

Mojo mewls. Traitorous dog, calling my bluff.

“Liar.” Slowly, his lips stretch wider into a grin. His teeth are white and perfect.

Maybe I could ask him to fix me. Maybe he could do the roleplaying scene with me and cure me once and for all.

Maybe he’ll say yes.

No, fuck no. Where has your sense of self-preservation gone?

“Am not.” Yes, I am. But if he asks me if I have butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I’ll keep lying through my teeth. “I’m going home. So, stop touching me.”

A bit more pressure on my jaw. Then lower. He’s searching for my pulse point.

Please, don’t find it. Please, don’t see how good you make me feel.

“Where’s home?” His voice is husky. Smooth. His fingers slide into my hair, parting the strands.

I can’t,won’t, tell him where I live. As the daughter of Cooper Everglow, renowned horror author, I was taught better than that. “Russia.”

“Russia.” Landon barks a laugh, a warm one, which is weird. “You’re a long way from home, little lamb.”

“What’s with thelittle lamb?” Since this is obviously the last time I’ll see him, I have to know.

“Only a lamb can tempt a wolf like you do.” Pulling me by my neck, his lips press to the top of my head.

He sucks in a breath, making a voice in the back of his throat.

While I’m suffocating in his presence.

It lasts for a second, or a million, then he lets me go and stalks off.

I don’t call after him. I don’t chase him and tell him I’m not actually from Russia, that I live just down the road.

I don’t.

But poor Mojo is love-stricken, yanking me in Landon’s direction.

“Mojo, traitorous baby, come back. We’re not going there.” I tug lightly on his leash without hurting him. Just enough pressure to get our sweet boy to turn around.

Eventually, he does. Big brown eyes gaze up at me, his tail flailing slower and slower.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for a stranger.” Landon is out of sight, and I still whisper. Mojo barks once. “No, we can’t go with him. No, again, don’t give me that look. You saw him go. He left, all right?”

Another miserable bark.

“Mojo.” I squat to his level, my skin still burns wherever Landon touched me. “I agree, buddy. He was hot and intimidating in that non-intimidating way, and he was”—sigh—“wonderfully dark. But he’s gone, and I’d really like to go home. Could I bribe you with a treat, maybe?”

At that, my nephew-dog comes alive again, and we head back home.

As soon as Mojo and I climb that last step and make it into the hallway, he breaks into a run toward my door. He’s huge,so he covers the distance in a second, sniffing at the rug on my doorstep.

“Mojo, hold on!” I whisper-shout, running after him with my arm stretched out.

My heart hasn’t settled yet after meeting the stranger, Landon, in the street. The butterflies are still alive in my stomach, just as they were when he stepped into my line of sight.

---