Page 68 of Red Flag, Green Light

I catch thedeadly seriouslook in his eye, which seems a whole lot like a brooding, obsessed, insane male lead’s, and find myself taking a fragile breath. Then, since I’m me, I say something stupid: “Well, still… I mean, for the purpose of considering whether or not marrying you is in my future,logistically, can you throw me over your shoulder and toss me into bed?”

His gaze roams my foyer table, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Can I take that as consent to sully the sanctity of your bedroom?”

“What?”

“I’m taking that as consent.”

In another moment, he has me tossed over his shoulder. Confident strides take me from my foyer, down my hall, and into my bedroom. Unceremoniously, he dumps me in bed…and looms over me on all fours, caging me there.

My lips part.

“Have I met your standards, my goddess?”

Thoughts evade, so he takes his time teasing a lock of my hair around his finger while scanning my room, from the neat white shelves to the matching dresser. “Immaculate. No plants. How surprising.”

“How did you know which door was my room? They were all closed.”

“Do you want the safe answer, or the truth?”

“Always the truth.”

Darkness tangles in his eyes as he pulls my hair to his lipsand fixes his gaze on me. “The floorplan for your house is online. I have studied it. At length.” My hair slips from his finger, and he scans my body, beneath him, pillowed against the white cloud of my down comforter. His lips meet my forehead, then he pushes up, separating us.

Once he’s seated beside me, spinning a card between his fingers, I regain the ability to think and speak. “You’re strong.”

“I’ve been training for this.”

“For…this? Specifically?”

“More or less.” He shrugs, rubs his shoulder. “That did hurt a little, though. I’ll keep training.”

Slowly, I sit up, take in his broad back, the card spinning between his long fingers. I don’t know what it is about him. He’s really something else.

I’ve never been the greatest at identifying what’s going on inside my body. It’s why I don’t eat as often as I should, probably. Hunger is a foreign sensation. It’s only when I’m starkly panicked that everything seems to come online, and then it’s horrible. Like being shocked, suddenly, at full strength.

On some level I think I understand that my interest in extremes stems from a desire to experiencepositivefeelings, yet knowing I won’t unless they somehow manage to get beneath my flesh.

I’m naturally cold. Void. Empty. I learned really young how to get others to fill in the spaces.

But other people are heavy. And I’m tired of paying the price to be around them when I’m so much lighter alone.

Sagging, I let my cheek fall against Mars’s back, let my eyes close, let the tension and weight leave me.

“All good, little goddess?” he murmurs.

“Why me?” I ask.

“Why…you?”

“I know you have a reputation, but surely there are otherwomen in town who’d take a chance with a bad boy. Why me?”

His head rocks back to rest against mine. “Do I have to be honest again?”

“Always.”

He sighs. “You’re beautiful.”

“Really? That’s surprisingly shallow given your spiel just a few minutes ago about wanting to carve your name into my soul.”

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