Page 51 of Twice as Twisted

“You don’t like oranges?” he asks, starting to peel it.

“I like them.”

“But?”

“I just like apples better.”

He watches me, waiting.

“I don’t like the stuff they get on my hands when I peel them,” I admit after a minute.

“You don’t like to be touched, you don’t like swimming outside of pools, and you don’t like peeling oranges. Any other hang-ups I should know about?”

“You make me sound crazy.”

“No, it’s good,” he insists. “Then I’ll have a better idea of where to take you next time.”

My heart skips, and I sneak another glance while I nibble on my apple. “There’s a next time?”

“Why wouldn’t there be?”

“Because I’m mad as a hatter?”

He grins. “You’re not crazy. Just quirky. It’s cute.”

“Stop it,” I protest, confused by how I feel two things that are opposite each other and therefore should be impossible to feel at the same time. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he insists. “You’re cute as hell, and there’s definitely a next time if I have any say in the matter.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding and taking another nibble. “I’m scared of heights.”

“Damn,” he says, shaking his head. “I totally failed this date. Maybe I should be making you promisemea next time.”

“There’s a next time for me,” I say. “I promise.”

Our eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence, weighted and hot, between us. Then he slowly works both his thumbs into the center of the orange before pulling it apart, spreading it open. There’s something erotic about it, and a pulse happens that makes me jump in my seat. Baron slowly peels off a section and raises it to my mouth. “So you don’t get your hands dirty,” he murmurs, touching it to my lips.

I slowly open, and he slides it between. He’s not even touching me, but still, I can’t breathe. His dark gaze smoldersinto mine, and he leans in, so close I can see the finest striations of gold and amber in his deep brown irises.

“One day, I’m going to kiss you and ruin your life.”

He pushes the section of orange all the way in, then releases it before slowly brushing his thumb over my lower lip in the lightest touch, too quick to send my pulse skyrocketing. It’s already hammering hard and heavy in chest, making my head spin like I’m hanging over the edge. I don’t know what to do, how to respond to my body’s reaction. I can’t turn away from this precipice, can’t step back from the deadly drop. I can only cling on and pray frantically, wordlessly, with nothing but terror on my tongue.

Baron gives a little smirk and sits back, teasing off another section and slipping it into his mouth like he’s not dangling my heart over a cliffside. He just sits there eating his orange, pretending he’s not dragging me down into dark waters so deep light can’t penetrate, where I can’t tell up from down, so I could just as easily swim downwards toward my death as upwards to the sun.

“So,” he says, handing me a section of orange this time. “What would you do if I touched you?”

“Freak out,” I say, giving a breathless little laugh. I’m too shaken for artifice. How am I supposed to make him fall for me when I’m too busy trying to survive my own fall?

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says, flashing me a small smile as he hands me another section of orange.

“This doesn’t seem fair,” I say, squirming with the discomfort of having been so vulnerable. “I’ve told you all my stuff, and now I sound crazy. Tell me something you’re afraid of.”

“I’m a Dolce,” he says simply. “I’m not scared of anything.”

I let out a little laugh, but he doesn’t even smile, and I think he’s serious.

“If you’re not scared of anything, then tell me your hang-ups,” I say. “You said in the car that everyone has them.”

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