Page 97 of There's No Us Without You
I call out after him, but he only ignores me, the slamming of his door echoing down the stairs, letting me know just how much he’s not interested in continuing our conversation right now. Moments later, music thumps through the ceiling, the beat shaking the paintings on the walls.
There’s one thing I hate the most, and that’s being ignored. My mother would ignore me all the time when something didn’t go her way, but I deserve better than that.
Hands fisted at my sides, I storm up the stairs and stomp my way down the hall until I’m standing in front of Will’s bedroom door.
I’m panting, so after a couple of deep breaths to steady myself, I slam my fist against the door, readying myself for an argument. I’m going to tell him exactly what I think about him.
My leg bounces as I wait for Will to swing the door open. The music isn’t loud enough that he can’t hear me.
So when he doesn’t answer, I slam my fist again, this time not stopping until the music cuts off. Seconds pass before Will yanks the door open and steps into my personal space.
Chest heaving, eyes burning over me like a wildfire, Will plants his hands on either side of the doorframe. “Are you fucking done being a damn child?”
My mouth dries up and I take a step back, dropping my gaze to the floor. What the hell was I thinking?
“Look at me.” Voice softer than moments ago, Will hooks a finger under my chin and lifts my face. “I’m not going to deny my attraction to you, Eden. You’re a beautiful woman and if you were mine, I’d have you tied up right now for disobeying me. But”—wrapping a hand around the back of my neck, he leans in, his lips lightly brushing against the shell of my ear—“if you so much as step foot inside that house again, I won’t care that you aren’t mine, and Iwillbend you over my knee and make it clear just how disappointed I am in you. Do you understand?”
Then, just as quickly as he sent me into a heated mess, he steps back and stalks over to his neatly made bed to pick up a shirt from a pile of laundry.
He continues to fold it neatly, as I stand in the doorway, unable to form coherent sentences.
No-one has ever spoken to me the way Will does. The power emanating from him almost brings me to my knees, which is something I’ve come to realise he’d enjoy.
I’m at war with myself, and as much as I want to disobey him, I also want to show him I can do what he says. Obey him. Please him. But not in the same way I wanted to please my mum while growing up.
This type of submission seeps out of my pores. I bet Will can smell it on me. If he was to tell me to kneel right now, I’d do it, no questions asked.
“Is there something else you need, Eden?” Will pauses, a pair of shorts now in his hand, apparent impatience set on his features.
I shake my head. “No.”
When I don’t move, a hint of a smirk lifts one corner of his mouth. “Are you just going to stand there staring?”
I open my mouth to say something, then slam it shut again before turning on my heel and racing back down the hall.
I am so freaking screwed.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Will
I throwthe pair of shorts I’m holding onto the bed and pace across my bedroom to slam the door shut again. I press my back against the timber and scrub my hands over my face. My insides are vibrating, and it feels like someone covered me in petrol and lit a fucking match. My skin is burning with the need to controlthis situation, and with Eden’s lingering scent, I’m using all my effort to keep from going to her and taking what I want.
What I need.
That woman is testing me, and if I don’t get my fix soon, I may do something I’ll regret. How the hell I’ve kept my feelings for Emerson under wraps for all these years is beyond me.
A few weeks with Eden and I’m walking a damn tightrope between two high-rise buildings without a harness.
But I don’t have the brainpower to sort through that shit storm right now because it’s Friday, and instead of chasing after Eden, or finding out exactly what’s going on with my best friend, I’ll do what I do every fucking Friday.
Try not to commit murder.
With my pile of washing now at an acceptable level, I shove a shirt over my head and push my hair back to fix the mess before heading out of my room. On my way past Emerson’s bedroom, I slow my steps.
If I barge in there and rummage through his shit, what am I going to find?
What scares me is if Brady is involved...
