Page 50 of Savage Desire

“You were checking me out. Let me know when you’re done.” His smile is too pretty for a man. It draws me in under false pretenses, but I’m chasing after it regardless.

Remembering myself, I glare at him. “Care to explain why you insisted I stay here?”

“We can discuss that when we’re all together. There is nothing worse than having to repeat myself,” he mutters, raking his hand through his hair.

Ass.

“You seem quite happy to make me repeatmyself. I’ve asked you multiple times, and I’ve also insisted that you get out, but you seem quite happy to pay me no mind,” I snap, my emotions rattling to the surface.

“It’s quite impossible to pay you no mind, Silver. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here,” he mutters, giving me a pointed look.

I bite back a frustrated scream as my hands clench at my sides. I’m quite sure this man is going to be the death of me, and not in a good way either. Our interactions have been few and far between, and now he’s saying things like that.

“Don’t deflect from the topic at hand,” I grumble, my body tingling under his intense presence.

He rolls his eyes at my dramatics before turning to look around my room. Embarrassment of another kind threatens to take root in my gut, shame intertwined at my sparse space, but it’s quickly forgotten when he starts moving.

“Hey,” I whine, eager to get him the hell out of my room, but instead of hearing my protest, he comes to a stop at my nightstand, staring down at my journal.

“Please tell me you don’t write in this,” he mutters, casting a wary glance my way.

I march toward him, reaching for my faithful leather when he snatches it up before I get a chance, holding it out of reach. “Let go. Right now,” I bite, itching to stomp my foot in rage, but I manage to refrain.

“Silver, I’m being serious. Please tell me you don’t write in this.”

“It’s none of your business, and stop calling me that,” I grumble, jumping up in the air three times, each one a failed attempt at getting my precious journal from his grasp. When I stop trying, planting my hands on my hips as I decide to make him hand it over with my withering glare, he startles me by grabbing my chin.

His thumb presses into my flesh, tilting my head back as I gasp. The amusement from his eyes is gone, and the seriousness that swells in the vortex of green and blue makes me nervous. “You write in it, don’t you?” I blink at him, my heart lodging in my throat. “A nod will do,” he adds as his nostrils flare, and despite my better judgment, I do just that. “How long?”

I gape at him, my mind short circuiting as he releases his hold on me. Why do I want his brutal touch back on my body? Why do I care about the way he’s looking at me?

Dammit.

“For as long as I can remember, why?” I finally muster, banding my arms tight around my waist, feeling instantly on display before him.

A growl parts his lips as he sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a step back. He stares down at the journal as if it offends him, and he sighs. His shoulders rise high with the inhale, but do little to drop and relax as he slowly exhales.

“Asher?” I ask, instead of demanding he get the hell out, and when he meets my stare, I know with all that I am that I’m not going to like the next words that come out of his mouth.

“Silver, these things are laced with magic. They capture everything you write so they can keep tabs on you.”

18

ASHER

Polaris Beauchamp.

Silver.

She’s a firecracker, and that’s an understatement.

I half expected to walk up to her room and find her gone, but it seems I caught her on the cusp of leaving instead.

Interesting.

My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I’m certain it’s further messages from my uncle or his men, but right now there are more pressing matters on campus that need to be addressed.

The aftermath of Declan’s actions for one, the reaction from Silver for two, and this damn diary for three.

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