Page 97 of Merry Me
But my voice was too bright, too easy, and we both knew it. I was usually a confident girl, but something about seeing her perfect body had unraveled me in a way I hadn’t expected.
Easton’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?” I asked, retreating half a step.
He followed. “That thing where you pretend you don’t care. But you do. And I’m not letting you walk away with that look on your face…not after everything we just said. Not after what I told you.”
I stiffened, trying to protect something inside me that had already cracked. “I’m not walking away. I’m going inside.”
“No.”
His voice was low and rough, a warning and a plea. “You don’t get to walk away from me like this.”
Then his hand closed gently around my wrist. Not hard. Not controlling. Just grounding. Just… anchoring.
The fire behind us crackled and faded into the background as he stepped into my space, eyes locked on mine, his chest brushing mine with every uneven breath.
“You are mine, Natalie.”
My breath caught on the edge of his words.
“You always have been mine,” he said, voice a rasp of emotion and steel. “And I don’t care if a thousand women throw themselves at me. Strip down. Light themselves on fire. I wouldn’t look twice. Because I already found the only girl who’s ever mattered.”
The world stopped spinning.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out…because what could I possibly say to that?
He reached for my other hand, lacing our fingers together like he was stitching us back together one piece at a time.
“Come with me.”
I shook my head, but my fingers were already threading through his, instinct stronger than logic.
“Easton—”
“I’m not doing this here,” he said. “Not with people watching. Not with your heart retreating from me like usual.”
Someone shouted our names behind us, a question tossed on the wind like confetti, but Easton didn’t glance back. His grip on my hand tightened, his stride unwavering as he led me inside the bed-and-breakfast, up the creaky stairs, past the garland lining the railing. He didn’t stop until we were inside our suite—our shared, complicated suite—and the door had clicked shut behind us like the sealing of a promise.
The air around us pulsed as he pushed me against the closed door.
“You need to hear this,” he murmured, eyes burning into mine. “I’ve kissed actresses in movies. Held their faces like I meant it. Had fans scream my name like it belonged to them. I’ve had directors say I’ve got insane chemistry with women I couldn’t pick out of a lineup now.”
He leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the words against my skin.
“But you?” His gaze dipped to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. “You’re tattooed on my memory. You’re not chemistry. You’re gravity. You are the standard. The girl every other girl has failed—and will always fail—to be.”
A single tear slipped down my cheek, hot and uninvited. I swiped at it, furious at myself for breaking.
“You think I’d risk what I want, what we could be…for a nude?” he asked, his voice sharp, eyes searing into mine. “A picture from someone I don’t even think about when I’m off set? No. That’s not me. That’s not who I am. That’sneverwho I’ve been with you.”
I tried to speak. But I couldn’t. The words were tangled and knotted behind my teeth.
“You think I don’tseewhat you’re doing?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You’re scared. You’re looking for any reason to bolt. To tell yourself you were right to leave.”
I flinched. It was too honest. Too exact.
He exhaled, like he hated calling me out but hated lying to me more.
