Page 28 of In Between Darkness
“You think you scare me? Well, you don’t. I think I scare you.” I stare into his deep brown eyes, and a flutter arises in my stomach. Why does he make me feel like this?
He lets out a sarcastic chuckle as his eyes narrow in on me. “Why’s that stalker?”
“Because you couldn’t predict my moves last night.”
He pauses, and the hawks stand down. I watch as they disintegrate into thin air. He walks closer again, making me withdraw. I feel the rough bark of a pine tree against my back. Not again. He has me trapped.
“You really want to test that theory?” His eyebrow lifts, and he places his hand onto my chin, turning my head slightly. “What happened to your eye?”
I quiver at his touch and avert my gaze from his, fighting the lust racing through my veins.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I sneer, shaking my head out of his hand.
“Who says I was worrying?” His hand brushes past my neck and my body tenses.
“Thought you didn’t care about my Sun shit,” I say, and a shiver runs down my spine from the cool midnight breeze that hits my back.
“I don’t.” He steps back and his stare falls on my breasts. “You never do dress for the weather, do you?” His eyes work their way back up to mine and I feel exposed.
“Well, I did have a jumper,” I say, motioning to his hoodie and covering my breasts with my arms.
“You weren’t wearing it though,” he observes, his mouth curving upwards.
That smile. If he weren’t Moon, I would jump his bones right now. I shake off the feeling. I think back to the dorm advice. I need to get away from all this testosterone before I do something I might regret.
“Look. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get back to River and the rest of the party. They’ll be wondering where I went.” I fidget with my hands and begin edging away from the tree.
“River. You’re hanging out with a dork named River?” He chuckles, placing his head in his hands.
“He’s not a dork!” I say defensively. “He’s actually nice to me, unlikesome people.” I make an effort to appear agitated and look him directly in the eye.
He laughs before turning serious and staring back at me so intensely that it makes me gulp.
“Nice won’t get you anywhere in this life. Nice gets you killed. Sooner or later you’ll realise that.” His words are harsh. Why is he giving me advice? Am I supposed to appreciate this?
“Well, I happen to like nice,” I counter, though in my bones I know that River doesn’t make me feel like he does.
“If you like nice so much, why are you dreaming about me?”
His jaw muscles tense under the moonlight. Is this jealousy? His eyes meet mine, and everything falls silent for a second. He comes in closer, staring down at me, and I look up, my heart racing so fast I fear it might beat out of my chest. I try to pull my eyes away from his, but they have other plans. I drink up every little detail. His hand stretches out beside me and rests on the bark by my head like it did last night. I trail my fingertips up his body, tracing every ridge of his abs and stop on his left peck. I feel his heart thumping against my palm. Each pulse is an invite into him, my heart cries out for just a taste of him, the forbidden fruit. His hand brushes against the skin on my neck, making a small gasp escape my lips; my thighs grow hot with temptation.
A crow squawks in the distance, breaking me from the seduction he has me under and I push at his chest, breathing heavily, but he doesn’t move much.
“I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with you. You told me to bring the hoodie, and I brought it. No funny business, remember?” I try to slow my heart rate down and look anywhere but at his person.
“That was before you showed up drunk and looking like a hooker,” he spits, whilst looking me up and down, pinging the strap of my bra with his fingers.
“Asshole.” I push him and begin walking away, though my sexual desire still craves his touch.
“Wait.” The desperation in his voice forces me to stop in my tracks. “I did some digging. I wanted to tell you, but you’ve been acting all drunk and annoying.” He bridges the gap between us once again.
“Digging about what?” I question ignoring the sparks that fly when he is around me.
“You. You’re different, Asha.” His gaze softens. This man must be bipolar.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I start walking again. If I stay a minute longer, I won’t be able to control myself.
“I think you do.”
