Page 89 of The Holiday Clause
“I told you I don’t play games.”
“Then be direct with me! What do you want?”
The air sparked with a mixture of tension and aggression. He appeared upset but also angry.
“Answer me, Greyson. Everything you’ve ever asked of me, I’ve given you, yet you can’t even give me an explanation about what we’re doing. What is this?”
He closed the distance, quickly rounding the counter. She took a step back and looked up at him. Shaking under his hard, punishing stare.
“I deserve the truth, Grey.”
His nostrils flared, and his mouth formed a flat line. “Fine. I can’t be your friend anymore.”
His words cleaved through her heart like a blade, knocking her off balance as her vision blurred with unshed tears. “Get out.”
He caught her arm. “No. I warned you. Once crossed, some lines can’t be uncrossed.”
She did this. She ruined everything. Looking down, she nodded. He needed to leave before she completely fell apart. “Please, just go.”
His laugh turned cold. “You think you’re getting rid of me now? You made me your problem.”
Her stare jumped to his, confused. “I thought?—”
He sealed his mouth to hers, demanding and possessive, tasting of coffee and desperation, his stubble rough against her skin as if trying to erase the memory of all other kisses that came before. Tears sprang to her eyes, but now for different reasons.
Was this really happening? Had Jocelyn’s advice actually worked?
She pulled back in shock, afraid she was reading him wrong. “Are you sure?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t have a choice.”
She frowned, confused by his answer.
Tinsel peeked out of his coat collar and meowed. “Not now, Rat.” He stuffed the kitten back into the shelter of his jacket.
“You’re still calling him that?”
“It’s his name.”
She untangled herself from his hold. “I think we should talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Well, I do.”
He yanked her close again. “I’m through talking.”
“Greyson, stop. You can’t keep distracting me with kisses whenever I ask for a real explanation of your feelings.”
He released her to pace the tiny kitchen. “I’m not Soren. I don’t perform.”
“I’m not asking you to perform. I’m asking you to be honest about your feelings for once and have a real conversation with me.”
Tinsel climbed out of his coat, using his body as a jungle gym.
Wren wasn’t going to be distracted. She’d waited him out for fifteen years. After everything that happened, he owed her an explanation. Soren was willing to open up. The least Greyson could do was admit he cared on some level.
Several minutes passed in unmoving silence as she waited for him to talk.
