Page 68 of Freckles

“Good morning,” I call, hoping it’s a mistake, but instead of answering, he turns and walks away.

“What’s that about?” Kincaid asks and I can’t tell if he’s for real or being disingenuous.

Either way, I don’t have an answer.

“Keep your phone turned on,” he reminds me, removing my hairclip to smooth my fringe, his fingers always busy, tidying my messiness. “And follow my instructions or those punishments will just keep snowballing.”

I nod but the sense of fun is gone.

A slew of mental gymnastics might make my present bearable, but they won’t save me from reality. Just because the prison became more appealing doesn’t mean I should stop trying to escape. A fact brought home two hours later when I receive a message.

King

Auditorium

Second period

Don’t be late

Please and thank you don’t appear to be part of his glossary. He hasn’t even softened the command with an emoji.

I get to the right place at the right time but can’t see him, and hover anxiously in the doorway. The choir that had been practising disbands and the members exit, leaving the hall empty.

My footsteps echo across the cavernous space as I walk to the stage and mount the steps, peeking behind the tall curtains. I’m not a theatre or music aficionado, so haven’t seen it from this angle before.

I stand mid-stage, soaking in the expectation of the empty hall, and a figure jumps out from the wings, making me shriek.

“Scream every time you see me, and it’ll give me a complex,” Kincaid teases, grabbing me by the waist and walking until I’m flush against the back wall. “Especially if you’re about to stab me again.”

“Dick.”

“It is a highlight, I’ll agree. You wouldn’t be the first girl to fall in love based on nothing more than my dick.”

He chuckles and I laugh along with him, enjoying the burst of good humour. “This is my ‘trying not to hurt you’ face, not my ‘in love’ face.”

His lips press against mine, the touch gentle, his fingers curling around my neck. I shuffle closer, then my sanity reconnects, and I jerk back, smacking my head on the wall.

“Careful.”

“Don’t kiss me. I don’t like it.”

And part of me wishes that were still true because Kincaid sees straight through my deception.

“You need to listen to your body, Freckles.” Everywhere his hands caress, my flesh sings in response. “Because it’s telling me a different story.”

“And you need to listen to the words coming at of my mouth instead of the delusions swirling in your head.”

I shove him and he doesn’t move except for his grin growing wider. I arch my eyebrows, the sensations I deny clamouring louder and louder until it’s no wonder he can see my body’s betrayal.

The apex of my thighs throbs with such heat I worry it will catch on fire. “Was there something else you needed?”

“Hm.”

He trails a finger along my hairline and my throat catches at his adoring expression.

I’m not the only one who’s at war. For all that Kincaid acts like a domineering hardarse, tiny acts of kindness spill out to soften his steel backbone. “That’s an intriguing offer.”

“It was sarcasm.”

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