Page 78 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
Adelaide arches a brow. “How reassuring.”
I sigh again, already regretting everything.
We make our way down the stairs, the sound of music and conversation drifting from the living room.
None of us look that way, no one’s in the mood for more questions.
We’re almost at the door when a hand closes around my wrist.
The touch stops me cold.
I turn, and green meets midnight blue.
His eyes are so dark they might as well be black in the dim light, and for a moment, the rest of the world blurs out of focus.
The girls have already slipped outside, but I don’t look after them, I can’t. Arlo has me fixed in place.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is low.
I draw a steady breath. “Out.”
His gaze drifts over me, my face, the fall of my hair, the way the light catches on the fabric of my dress. His gaze is possessive, tracing over me like he’s memorising every detail.
His jaw flexes as his eyes travel down to where my dress ends, lingering on the length of my legs before rising to the neckline, to the curve of my chest, the cut of the fabric making it seem fuller.
“You really think I’ll let you walk out dressed like that? Into a bar full of men who don’t know when to look away?”
A flicker of irritation sparks under my skin. “You don’t get to decide that, Arlo. You’re not my keeper.”
He steps closer. “Keep testing me, Ophelia, and see where that gets you.”
My pulse jumps, though my voice stays even. “Where it always does, apparently, nowhere good.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air between us hums, heavy with tension, hunger, something dangerously close to longing.
Then I pull my wrist free and force myself to take a step back.
“I’m leaving,” I say quietly. “Enjoy your evening, Arlo.”
Without waiting for a reply, I turn and step out into the cold.
The night is quiet when I emerge outside. Snow covers everything, soft and clean, the moonlight turning it silver.
It looks peaceful.
I follow the crunch of footsteps toward the garage.
Octavia’s voice slices through the stillness, impatient, arguing with Milo about something.
Adelaide’s by Isaak, her chin high, talking low, whatever passes between them looks tense.
Piper stands off to the side, facing away from Hunter.
When Adelaide notices me, she straightens. “Ready?”
Before I can answer, she moves to go around Isaak, but he shifts, blocking her way. He leans in, his hand brushing her cheek as he murmurs something I can’t catch.
Colour rises in Adelaide’s face, and then, just as quickly, she slips past him, his hand dropping to his side.
