Page 34 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
“Because you want me to.”
I laugh a little breathlessly. “No, I don’t. I’m angry, remember?”
He gazes down at me. A vein throbs in his neck. “Because I want you to, then. Because I didn’t give you an opportunity to say no last Friday night. Because I don’t want to scare you away before I’ve even had a chance.”
His mouth hovers inches from mine. The heat of his body warms me through my dress. I feel electrified. Electrocuted.
“A chance to do what?”
What he says next makes my heart stop beating altogether, but he doesn’t even blink.
“Make you fall in love with me.”
I can’t look away. I don’t want to. It’s a primal, undeniable urge to witness the carnage, almost like driving by a fatal car wreck, craning your neck to see the bodies and blood.
“Parker—”
“Ask me.”
“We agreed on just one date, remember?”
“Victoria. Ask me.”
Instead, I ask a question I already know the answer to. “Are you always this stubborn?”
He ignores that. Staring deep into my eyes, he orders, “Ask me to kiss you, Victoria.”
I make a sound of exasperation.
He leans so lose to my face, his lips brush mine when he speaks. “You like the way I taste, remember? Now ask me. And then, after I’ve kissed you, I want to see if there’s anything else you’d like to ask me for.”
Oh, the dark promise in that tone. The spine-tingling, blatant sexuality of it. My nipples harden. My breath quickens.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
I lick my lips, take a fortifying breath, and whisper, “Parker, please ki—”
He crushes his mouth to mine.
ELEVEN
It’s the first day of high school. I’m sick with nerves; this is a new school for me. One much larger and farther from home than the middle school I left in the spring, so I can no longer ride Buttercup. I have to take the bus, which is stifling hot and smells like vomit.
I’m hopelessly lost as soon as I step off the bus. The campus seems endless. I have a map and my list of classes in my backpack, along with my books and my brown paper bag lunch. Trembling with anxiety, I kneel on the grass of the quad and tear open my backpack. I’m going to be late. I pull the map out so fast I tear it in two. Two senior girls walk by, look at my lunch bag and my glasses and my secondhand clothes, and snicker. They walk on. With shaking hands, I fit the map halves together, trying to locate Building B.
“You need help finding your class?”
Startled, I look up. A boy stands over me. He’s beautiful. He’s also smiling, a smile more dazzling than the morning sun haloed around his golden head. I have the fleeting thought that he might be an angel. I’m so surprised I can’t speak.
“Here, let me help you.” The golden boy kneels beside me on the dewy grass. I hope he doesn’t get stains on the knees of his perfectly ironed, expensive-looking trousers.
“Where’re you supposed to go?”
“B-Building B,” I stammer, red-faced and sweating. I push my glasses farther up my nose.
The boy looks at me. Even his eyes are smiling. “I’m going there, too! C’mon, I’ll walk you.” He stands. When I just stare at him stupidly, he laughs and holds out his hand. “C’mon, we’ll be late!”
I put my hand in his. He gently pulls me to my feet. He says, “I’m Parker. What’s your name?”
