Page 51 of The Catalyst

"Don't make me hit you," I warn.

"Come on. I'm messing with you. You didn't seem to mind my company or my sense of humor that night. You actually liked it and said so many times."

I narrow my eyes on him. "I don't care if I told you your dick could dance and sing the Star-Spangled Banner backwards. You have a knack for throwing shit in Nigel's face to get on his nerves and you will seriously fuck with my life if you sayanythingabout what happened."

"You mean that we had sex? I'm not a gossip. Think what you want about me, but if you ask me to keep a secret, my lips stay sealed. Contrary to popular belief, I actually like O'Reilly and don't want to fuck shit up for him. He's a good guy. I will say, though, that no good relationship is built off secrets. He'd probably be more pissed off about you hiding it from him than it happening in the first place."

My eyes narrow. "Have you forgotten that he hates you?"

He grabs his chest with a faux gasp. "That hurt. Seriously, I think you crushed my heart."

"Shut up. You know, you're not as charming as you think you are."

He tilts his head again. "I never said anything about thinking that. I have a sense of humor. That's different. It sounds like you have some repressed emotions, little rabbit."

My lips thin with frustration. Maybe I do, but he didn't need to call me out like that.

"Back off, Martin,” a deep voice comes from behind me and I snap my head around as Oliver approaches, looking mighty irritated.

What is he doing here?

Talk about repressed emotions.

"Cousin! Long time no see." Martin's voice flits past my ear and I feel the color that had just returned to my cheek disappearing once again.

That was a bombshell that I don't think Martin intended it to be.

Martin and Oliver arerelated?

"Shut up and leave her alone," Oliver warns as he stops beside me and I can feel the heat coming off of him…and that godly smell. Why does he have to smell so good?

"What do you mean? I tried to leave and she approachedme." He grins as if that is a good reason to be standing here talking to me.

I'm Nigel's girlfriend and I'm standing here with the person Nigel hates more than anyone in the world.

Why does he hate Martin though? What did he do to make Nigel so irritated every time he sees or talks about Martin?

"Don't make me repeat myself. Scram," Oliver warns with a level voice.

Martin puts up his hands as if to say "I'm harmless" before he backs away. "See you around, little rabbit." Then, the cheeky bastard winks at me before leaving the aisle.

Shit.

Did Oliver hear what we were talking about? I hope not. He'll surely tell Nigel what he heard. At least, I think he would. Nigel is his best friend after all.

"What are you doing here?" I ask as I turn to him.

My back presses flush against the shelves as he moves in, leaning over me. My heart races the closer he gets and my fingers dig into the flesh of my palms. I take a deep breath and instead of getting fresh air, all I notice is the way he smells. Leather, cologne, and sandalwood. It shouldn't comfort me the way it does.

Not only is he the town psychopath, but he's also my boyfriend's best friend. He's the last person who should affect me like this. Hell, he probably doesn't know that even being in the same room as him does this to me. I doubt he knows that I reflect back on the time he held me in his arms and stroked my hair as I broke apart.

That was the one part of that night I couldn't lock away in a box even if I wanted to.

"None of your business, princess,” he rasps, his breath washing over my face. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth as I meet his gaze.

It's insane that not only does this man terrify me, but I simultaneously feel safe around him and more connected to him than I have ever felt to anyone else. He has spoken less to me than would need a piece of paper to write out. This is only the fourth time he has spoken to me since we met and I'm fascinated by every word he says. Maybe it's because there have been so few of them.

Oliver pushes his hand against the shelf as he moves away. The man turns and walks off, but my gaze doesn't leave his retreating form until I lose sight of him.

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