Page 159 of Lust

"Thanks," he says with a warm smile. "You smell nice too, but not as nice because you don't smell of coffee."

"I smell better, brat!" I yell, reaching out to slap his hand. He grabs my hand and squeezes it, his laugh fading.

"Hey. I wanted to talk to you about something."

Oh no. I was afraid of this. Over the last month, every time I've seen him, Halifax has acted more and more like he was interested in pursuing something a little more than friendship.

But I had hoped he'd see that I was in no mind to be wanting to be in any sort of romantic relationship. And probably wouldn't be for a long time. He'd been there when I'd cried all over his shoulder about Matthias, telling him all about the fake engagement.

I'd been a little better in the last few days, and I guess he took that to mean that he should admit his feelings.

"Halifax. I don't think you should say what you're wanting to say."

He sighs. "I need to."

I sigh and lay my hand on top of his. "Okay, but I'm going to warn you I'm not ready for anything."

His eyes take on a sad air, exactly the thing I was hoping to avoid. He blinks it back and decides against his better judgment to keep going. "Clarissa, I think you are so amazing. From that first day, I knew you were unlike any other women I've ever met in my life before. I was wondering if you would like to go on a date with me?"

I take a beat, trying to think of the kindest way to let him down when someone speaks for me.

"No, no, she wouldn't."

I jump about a foot in the air and land back in my chair from Matthias's voice. Halifax looks about as confused I am.

We both crank our neck upward to see Matthais standing there at the table, his face a perfect storm, Baxter Blue eyes swirling with so much simmering fury I'm afraid Halifax might be smitten right here and leave nothing but a coffee smelling burn mark.

"Matthias!" Halifax and I both say at the same time. Halifax in surprise, me in anger. What is he even doing here?

"Tell him, Clarissa, tell him you would not like to go on a date with him." His voice is low, almost inaudible, but the message is clear. He's jealous.

Emotion kicks up like a dust storm around the two of us, air cracking with electricity. When's the last time I was this close to him?

"Tell him," he repeats, eyes boring down on me. "Now."

My hackles rise at the command. "You can't tell me what to do, Matthias."

"I'm not. I'm telling my fiancée she shouldn't go on a date with another man. I shouldn't even have to tell her. She should know."

"I'm not y—" I don't even get to finish the sentence; he grabs my arm and drags me to my feet. "Matthias!

It never took much effort for him to move my body into any position he wanted, but I'd never fought against him in bed before.

I struggle to pull my arm from his hold, he swings me around so that we're face to face. Shoulders and chests heave from the effort of our struggle, and then his mouth is on mine.

The rest of the world burns away, leaving nothing but the two us, intertwined. He kisses me like he hasn't seen me in a century, and in many ways, it feels that way. I wish we could stay like this, but the ever present hurt in my stomach intensifies with each second that we're kissing. Because nothing has changed.

We are still Matthias and Clarissa, two people cleaving towards each other on opposite ends of the universe with no way to reach the middle without tearing ourselves apart.

Every part of my soul wants nothing except to fall into his orbit again, but the gravitational pull of my hurt keeps him just out of reach.

I can't do this.

I push him away, my lips being the past of my body to pull away from him.

"You are my fiancée. You will be my wife. It's fated. Don't you understand that?" His voice howls with a pain I know is mirrored in my own heart.

"Matthias."

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