Page 141 of Silver Elite

My breath hitches.

“You must have had all the boys in Z lining up to get with you, just so they could sit there and stare into those eyes.”

“Hardly. I used to get teased about them,” I confess.

“Bullshit. Why?”

“I guess in certain lighting inside the schoolhouse, they looked completely yellow. When I was twelve, this one kid, Oden, got it into his head that I was a witch.”

Cross smiles, and it’s a sight to behold. “A witch.”

“Uh-huh. We were in the middle of a mythology unit in class, learning all about witches and werewolves and supernatural creatures, and our teacher projected a picture of this terrifying woman with glowing yellow eyes, casting a spell on a defenseless man. Oden and his obnoxious little friends started shoutingWitch!at me whenever I walked into class.” I grumble at the memory. “At first it really bothered me. I didn’t understand why they were being so mean aboutsomething I couldn’t control. But then”—I shrug—“my best friend Tana encouraged me to embrace it. She said witches were powerful, independent women who didn’t conform to society’s expectations. So the next time I came to school and he shoutedWitch—”

“You beat the shit out of him.”

My mouth falls open. Laughter tickles my throat. “How did you know?”

His fingers skim a path along my jawline, leaving prickles of pleasure in their wake. “Because I think even at twelve years old, you were a force to be reckoned with, Dove.”

His fingertips graze my cheek with a featherlight touch. Each second stretches taut, the sexual awareness between us like a thread on the verge of snapping.

“Enough about me,” I blurt out. “Tell me about you, Captain. Do you like your father?”

The abrupt subject change startles him. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just curious. You never speak about him.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“That’s a no then.”

“I didn’t say that.” He leans forward to pick up his glass, and his body crowds me, his woodsy scent surrounding me.

I pause in thought. “I don’t think I would want the General as my father.”

“Why is that?”

“Too much pressure. He runs the Continent. A man like that must expect greatness from his children.”

Cross’s grip tightens over my thigh. I’m not sure if it’s a warning or a reflection of his feelings toward the General.

“What about the rest of your family?” I ask when he doesn’t respond. “Do you like your brothers?”

“Roe is a little shit.”

“Can’t disagree with that,” I say, and Cross gives a soft chuckle. “What about the other one? Trevor? Travis?”

“Travis. He’s…very driven.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“Of all the descriptors you could have used, you chose that one.” I shrug. “And your mother?”

“Let’s stop talking about trivial shit.”

Disappointment flutters through me. It’s rare for Cross to share any part of himself, and I want to know more.

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