Page 75 of Red Flag, Green Light

“Work. I did think you either dealt drugs or worked from home. What do you do?”

He clears his throat. “I manage the assets and marketing of a multi-million dollar LLC.”

I blink at the sleek set up, then shift my attention back to Mars, who has fully entered his bedroom. “I think you need three more monitors to hold that title.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Let’s step away from the computer, maybe.”

Because I am good and respectful of boundaries, I do as I’m told. And then I plop myself down on his bed. A delightful, choked noise tears itself from his chest, but I ignore it as I smile, innocently. “Is your desktop wallpaper pictures of me? Or have you left work open and you’re worried I’ll learn multi-million dollar corporation secrets that get you fired?”

Pressing his knuckles to his mouth, he fumbles to find a place for his hands, winding up with them bunched in his jacket. “Right now,” he says, words strained, “I’m only worried what I’ll do if my bed ends up smelling like you.”

I blink at the poor guy. Then, super delicately, I say, “Stuff your face in the comforter and repeat my name until your throat is raw. Duh.”

Heat blisters his cheeks. “I’ll have to wash all my bedding. But today isn’t laundry day. It’ll throw off my schedule.”

I jut my lip.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re suggesting creepy behavior. I’m not a creep.”

“It’s like you’re not even desperate for me.”

“It’s like I’m so desperate for you that if I give myself an inch, I might walk next door in the middle of the night and take a mile.” He settles heavily in his desk chair. “I am beyond grateful that you’re smart enough not to get with the kind of guy you want. If anyone remotely like the men you describe gets within three feet of you, I’ll have to add murder to my list of crimes.”

“Flirt.” I relax. “Why don’t you come sit with me?”

“I fear the reasons I’m not sitting with you are immaculately obvious.”

“Are you going to think about me, sitting here, all night?”

Poorly restrained desire grips his eyes. “Ceres…I think of you all night…every night. I wake from dreams of you feeling guilty for the reruns that plague me well into the afternoon. When I sayI love you, I mean it. Wanting you burns me from the inside out. Every moment with you is bliss I never thought I’d be blessed with. You are so unbelievably important to me. I need you to know the power you hold. At your sincere request, I would cast my morals to the curb, but I do believe that we both respect each other more. You trust me enough to say the things you do, knowing I’m not going to act on them while you’re not emotionally ready, and I trust you won’t destroy me…even knowing that my destruction is imminent and will be no fault of yours.”

That’s…

An awful lot of sincere confession given that we have known one another on speaking terms for, oh, a month? What manner of he-falls-first, instalove nonsense is this?

Oh, right.

The kind I devour by the truckload.

I cross my ankles. “I fail to see what I’ve done to deserve such adulation.”

“You’re you.” He threads his fingers together in his lap. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Generally,meis a lot more effort than what I’ve offered you. If I were the me that I perform for strangers, I’d understand. But I’m not. Not with you. Because mimicking your energy would make me sprain something, I’m nearly positive.”

“What a privilege.”

That causes my heart to react, so I cross my ankles the other way. “You know something, Mars?”

“Hm?”

“It’s very hard to be respectful of your feeble sensibilities when I want to kiss you so badly.” I lower my gaze, pitifully. “Can’t you just sleep on the floor tonight or something? Classic enemies to lovers with only one bed ends up with the guy sleeping on the floor at least once. I’m a big fan. I could even stay here tonight and sleep in your bed, to make it more accurate to the trope.” Practically angelic, I smile at Mars. “See how helpful I am? Total problem solver, right here.”

Mars’s heated gaze travels from my head, to my toes. He watches my toes curl against his wood floor. He lets his lashes fall against his cheeks as he releases a sigh. Rising, he makes his way to me, hooks a finger beneath my chin, and dips his mouth to meet mine. His lips tease as he drags his curled finger down the line of my throat.

My sense hits me like a train, and I pull back. “You don’t have to. I’m just—”

“Messing. I know.” He kisses my forehead, combs his fingers into my hair, grips his fist, and forces my head back. “But I amweak.” He drags me down until my back hits his bed. “Hauntme.”

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