Page 81 of Prey Tell
I grit my jaw against her scalp. “Jesus, Parker. I told you, seven-course meal—”
“I wanted it to be you. I pretended—I pretended it was you.”
My fingers fist the material of her—my—shirt. I pull her closer, inhaling the scent of her hair. Wrists, cunt, hair—my three favorite scent markers. They all smell different, but they all smell likeher.
“He was at the engagement party, actually. He works in my department.”
I drop my arms and step away. My jaw is clenching uncontrollably, and I’m afraid I’m going to break my teeth from grinding them so hard.
“He does?”
She nods, looking unsure. “Yeah. Professor Landon. Fate brought us together again last year when he was assigned as my mentor. But he’s not anymore.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, but she doesn’t smile. “I was with Dylan though, one of his star students, so he never—it was never an issue after that first time.”
I inhale and rub my jaw. “Okay.”
She looks at me skeptically, almost like she’s unsure that I’m actually dropping the subject.Ha.If only I could drop it. I file his name and this conversation away to deal with when I’m back in Crestwood.
We continue walking, and she tells me more about her work. It’s fascinating. I watch the way she lights up when she talks about her dissertation, about the academic journals she works on, about the papers she plans to write once she’s settled into a job this fall. I try to look casual as she continues babbling about moving to whatever university will take her, and again, I file that tidbit of information away. Perhaps someone like Liam Ravage—my eldest brother and a creative writing professor—needs to make some calls to local universities.
I shake the thought away.Two days.That’s all we have.
I have no claim on her, despite everything inside of me screaming to possess her.
“And, anyway, I don’t know what I’ll do about my house. I’d planned on selling it after Dylan and I were married, but—”
“Sell it?” I ask, surprised.
“Yeah. Dylan didn’t like it. He thought it was too small.”
Fucking hell.
If I’d been anyone else, I might not know about how much that house means to Juliet. How it reminds her of her parents. How the kitchen is basically crumbling, but she refuses to renovate because it’s the last thing she has of them.
She cried for a week when I installed a new dishwasher three months after they died.
“Did he know how much you love that house?” I ask carefully.
“Of course. But itissmall, and I wanted him to be happy—” she prattles, walking ahead of me.
I tug at her elbow, pulling her back. “Add this to your stipulations for future partners then,” I growl, and her light green eyes bore into mine with surprise.
“Stipulations?”
I nod once. “I know how much you love a good list.” I smirk.
Her cheeks flush, andfuck,she’s so goddamn beautiful.
“One, they must treat you like a seven-course meal.” Her breathing hitches, and I love the way her throat bobs, the way her chest stutters whenever I talk dirty to her.
“Two, do you remember what I told you when you came to the party at my apartment?”
She nods, but I tell her anyway.
“You mustknowthat you hold his heart in your hand. You need someone who will love you with every cell in his body.”
She swallows, and I place a hand over her throat, my thumb brushing the impossibly soft skin there.
“Three,” I add, my voice gentler. “They must be okay living in that house until the dayyoudecide to sell it. And maybe that’s never. And they have to be okay with that. Am I making myself clear?”
