Page 53 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
That’s all I need to hear to be reminded of why I hate him. “I’m not going home. I’m going to a party.”
For a few seconds, he stares at me, and his dead expression fools me into thinking no thought is going on behind it. I play my trump card, even though I hate it. “Cristiano said I could go.”
I’m still stunned when he takes a step back and says, “Fine.”
I heave in a breath now that his chest isn’t pressing the life out of me. “Fine?”
He shrugs but there’s a glint in his eye I don’t trust. “Sure. Go to the party. Just know that every single manwho lays his eyes on your ass in that skirt will get his head blown off.”
I drop my gaze to the gun I hadn’t realized he’d been holding by his side. When he cocks it, I physically jump. I dart my gaze back to his and know, unequivocally, he isn’t bluffing.
His voice carries an innocent lilt as his brows hitch. “You don’t want that on your conscience do you? I mean, you seem to care so much aboutotherpeople…”
I clamp a hand over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. Emotions rise up my body like a wave, threatening to engulf me.
“I hate you.” The words slide weakly through my fingers.
I refuse to open my eyes, letting the tears fall through cracks as I surrender to the fact that he’s right. If anyone were to be hurt because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
A warm hand presses to my cheek and I retreat into myself. He can do whatever he wants but if I make myself small enough, insignificant enough, nothing will touch me.
“I know.”
My insides shatter with those two words. He’s just going to accept it? He doesn’t care that someone in this world hates him? What does that say about the life he’s had?
My racing thoughts are only interrupted by the searing touch of his palm on my skin. I try my hardestnot to admit how strangely exquisite it feels, but my body has other ideas.
My head turns to the side and his pinky brushes against my lips. He doesn’t move it away as I linger there, hearing only labored breaths and heavy heartbeats. The skin covering my entire body comes alive and my lips part, a quiet moan escaping on a long exhale.
The pulse in my ears quickens and Bernadi’s pinky curls inwards, the tip gliding along my bottom lip. Keeping my eyes closed, I let my tongue inch outward to taste his finger. I hear a sharp intake of breath which urges me on. He dips the tip into my mouth and I wrap my lips around it and suck.
Oh God, what am I doing?
“Tess…” His voice cracks as he says my name.
My mind fills with a black stare through the gap in a door, the sound of a gunshot, Mrs. Falconi’s scream. Heat floods through my veins and prickles my skin. My teeth graze along his calloused skin as I chase them with my tongue. The humidity wraps around me like a hot, damp sheet.
I suck his finger deeper into my mouth, then I release my hands from behind my back and grip onto his jacket lapels, pulling him toward me.
“Tess…” he says again, this time withdrawing his finger.
My lids pop open and I don’t know what he sees in my eyes but it makes him pause. His pupils cover the whole of his eyes—black with burnt bronze edges.
He starts to shake his head and my heart flutters in a panic.
I tighten my grip around his jacket.
His hands reach up to cover mine, gently easing my grip. My heart skydives at the rejection.
“You started this,” I whisper, accusingly.
He holds both my hands inside one of his inhumanly large ones, and passes the fingers of his other hand through my hair. His gaze strokes my ear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Embarrassment floods my throat, my cheeks, and I yank my hands away, balling them into fists at my side.
“Get in the car,” he says, calmly but firmly.
