Page 106 of If Our Hearts Collide

I stick my tongue out at him. “My goal in life is fulfilled. Yay!”

His eyes crinkle just enough to imply amusement, but his lips refuse to submit to a smile. He wants to though. If anything, I am his entertainment for the moment.

I start to move toward the elevator bank, and Collins joins me. He hits the call button, and we wait in silence for the car to arrive. I just don’t see the point of having privacy when he scolds me. At least if I have witnesses, he might dial it back a notch ortwo. Plus, why am I even putting myself in a position for it to happen in the first place?

The elevator dings and the doors open. Collins steps to the side, placing his hand into the opening to allow me to go first. But I don’t move. I stay glued in my spot, wondering how I got to this place where I take orders like an obedient child.

“No.”

“No?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

I shake my head. “If you want to talk to me, do it here.” I prop my hands on my hips in defiance. Then I see a flash. “Hey! Put me down!”

From upside down, I watch as we enter the elevator. Collins hits the button for the eleventh floor and grips the back of my calves with authority. His touch is as commanding as his demeanor, never faltering, never uncertain.

“Who do you think you are?” I yell, smacking against his muscular back. I stretch my fingers, trying to mask the pain of hitting into solid rock.

“Your bodyguard.”

“Well, you suck at it, because I feel like I’m not being protected from your egotistical tendencies!” I take a few deep breaths and feel the vibrations permeating from beneath my stomach. Oh, how dare he. “Stop laughing at me, you, you”—I smack as hard as I can onto his back—“brute.”

When the car stops and the doors open, Collins just waltzes out into the hallway—like carrying me over his shoulder is the most normal thing.

Silently, I vow to learn my own self-defense moves of what to do when someone is toting me over their shoulders like a rag doll to their man cave, because I can’t trust Collins to be thorough.

Low-toned voices surround us, and I hide my head from any curious onlookers. I definitely don’t need this attention now.

How embarrassing.

I know people see me propped up on Collins’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes. How could they not notice? I stay silent as he carries me to his apartment, unlocks the door, and pushes it open with his spare shoulder.

Once he sets me on my feet, I snarl and take a step backward. “What has overcome you?”

“Would you like some water?”

“Seriously, what’s your deal?” I demand, ignoring his first try at distracting me.

“Juice?”

“I don’t need to quench my fucking thirst!”

“I got fresh-squeezed nectarine—no pulp.”

My lips form the word no but the sound doesn’t come out. Why is he softening me with juice, and why is it working?

Glued in place, I watch as Collins casually walks into his kitchen and grabs a glass out of the cupboard. He then moves to the refrigerator and pulls out the beverage container. Pouring some into the glass, he adds some ice and then strolls back over to me.

“Here. Drink.”

And I do. Because when I’m here, I’m cast under some spell.

I take a sip. And another.

Oh my, this is good.

“Who is he?”

“Who is who?” I ask, scrunching up my nose. My exhale causes the glass to fog up. Then it dawns on me.

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