Page 53 of Wrath
“Damn it, Wyatt.” Misha threw up her hands. “It’s not supposed to be funny.”
He opened both eyes and mouthed to her,So make me angry.
It was Misha’s blood raising, not his. “Okay, you want me to make you angry? Why don’t you talk? Have you tried, or are you too afraid?”
A frown puckered his brow, and she knew she was getting close. Sure, he’d suffered a major trauma that would ruin anyone else, but he wasn’t anyone else. A sick feeling churned in her gut. If she wanted to push him, she might have to say some mean things. Things she might regret.
Memories of Wyatt fighting at the club flashed through her mind. His anger had got the best of him. He’d crushed those security guards and nearly sent Dimitri over the balcony to his death.
No. She had to do this. He needed to learn to calm his soul, and if she were to believe his letter, that she was the one person deemed his opposite, then she had to believe she could help him.
Lowering her tone, she stalked around him. “You said in your letter that you were created in a lab. That you all have these crazy regeneration skills, so why can’t you talk?”
His frown deepened.
“I think youcanspeak,” she accused. “I hear you clear your throat, and there’s a solid sound there. I hear Alek clear his throat, and it’s different. So if your throat can make a sound, then the only explanation for you not speaking is that you’re too afraid to try. Or…” she inspected his reactions and noticed the tension hardening his muscles. “Or, you’re lying to me. This whole tortured soul act is a lie. So what is it, Wyatt? You’re either a liar, or a scaredy-cat.”
His gaze snapped open and pinned her. The cup wobbled in his hands.
“Breathing, Wyatt,” she reminded softly, and he darted a glance down to his trembling hands.
Exasperated, he shook his head and shut his eyes. His breathing evened out.
Misha couldn’t help the elation hitting her blood stream. She had to make him angrier. See if he came back from more. The perfect thought hit her, and a stone dropped in her stomach, but it would work, and it would kill two birds with one stone.
“I’m not going to be with you, Wyatt. I know you think we’ve got a connection, but we don’t.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
Misha stopped pacing and stood in front of him, face to face. Menace poured from him in waves.
“Forget that I’ve told you I’m only a one time girl, we can’t be together because I don’t like you that way. You’re dangerous, volatile and you run away from your problems. I don’t want someone in my life who isn’t going to stick around when the going gets tough. I don’t want someone who walks away from their family.”
It cut, because it was the truth.
“I want someone who can promise me they’ll always be there.”
A growl of frustration ripped from his throat and he frowned deeply. An aura of danger thickened the air. His muscles twitched and hardened, as though getting ready to pounce. Misha took a step back. For the first time, she wondered what would happen when he lost his cool. A glance over her shoulder revealed she had little breathing room. If he came at her, she’d fall.
Strangely, Wyatt didn’t lose his temper. The ticking in his jaw subsided, and the tension dropped from his shoulders. His breathing evened out, and he calmly opened his eyes. What stared back at her was a man with a mission. He lowered the cup gently, placed it on the floor, and then rose to stand before her. Imposing, half-naked, sweaty man was all she could see.
The light danced in his eyes as he clearly struggled with some decision. When he cleared his throat, Misha knew what it was. He was going to attempt to speak.
For her.
Her heart clenched.No, no, no. Don’t do it. Not for me.Not when she was the one who would run fromhim.
He lowered until his lips rested against the shell of her ear. For three glorious seconds, hot breath tickled her skin, shooting sparks through her system.
“You’re the one who’s afraid.” His voice was raw, raspy and deep, and it sent shivers of desire cascading through her.
“Wyatt, you spoke.”
His expression still held a determined quality, a hard set to the mouth, and a razor sharp focus. Aware of every breath, every movement, Misha watched as his hands gently braced her hips.
“You’re afraid of being with me. Admit it,” he rasped, tugging her closer.
Christ, his voice was sexy. Deep vibrations shimmied through her body, making her weak at the knees. While all her instincts wanted to scream,say something, speak again—her mouth said something else. “The cup didn’t work. Probably because you’re not afraid for it to spill. But… you wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?”
