Page 49 of Wreckage

I stared into his eyes, my heart in my throat.

“I meant every word of it?—”

His lip curled up as he snarled softly. His grip on my face grew tighter until I let out a soft whimper.

“I don’t want you to leave us,” he finally whispered thickly. His eyes skirted over my face, then darted to my lips. “I… I care about you.”

I blinked in confusion at his sudden words. They didn’t sound right falling from his lips.

“You care about me?”

His grip on my face slackened until he was cradling my cheek, his handsome face displaying a pained expression.

“Of course I do. You’re my sister.” The way he said that sounded like he was being choked. “But I’m torn because I wish you weren’t, too.”

My bottom lip wobbled with sadness.

He shifted slightly, his thumb gently trailing along my bottom lip, forcing me to look into his eyes again.

My breath caught in my chest as we stared back at one another.

“It feels wrong,” he said softly. “To feel…”

I had no idea what he was saying to me.

“If you weren’t my sister, I’d have…” his voice trailed off, his face darkening. He let his hand drop away from my face, leaving emptiness in its wake. “Doesn’t matter now,” he muttered. “Everything’s fucked.”

There was anger in his voice. Frustration.

I lowered my gaze to my lap again, my heart pounding hard.

Silence stretched between us again.

Then, softly, Adrian cleared his throat.

“I like your hair out of its braid.”

I looked up at him.

He watched me carefully, his expression unreadable, his fingers absently curled against his knee.

“It’s beautiful,” he continued, his voice quieter now.

I absently reached up, touching my hair, feeling the damp strands between my fingers.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Adrian had never complimented me before, but hell, everything that happened between us had never happened before.

He watched me for a moment longer before he shifted closer, his gaze still locked on me. Then, without hesitation, he reached out, threading his fingers through my hair.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

His touch was careful, slow, and reverent in a way I didn’t expect.His fingers brushed against my scalp, smoothing through the strands as if he had wanted to do this for a while.

I closed my eyes.

It felt nice.

Comforting.

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