“You’re a shit liar,” he murmurs, eyes on my mouth.
I nod again, mesmerized as he comes closer. I open my mouth to speak, even though I have no idea what I’m about to say, but nothing escapes because his hand is lifting from his side. There’s a tiny instant of time before his thumb hits my cheek — the moment before the lightning strike, when the whole damn sky seems to hold its breath in silence, waiting for impact.
“Cookie dough,” he explains as the pad of his thumb lands on the corner of my mouth, his touch bolting through me like electricity. I’m totally still as he brushes my skin, barely daring to breathe. When the crumbs are gone, his hand stays on my cheek and his eyes stay fixed on my mouth.
Holy frack.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask quietly.
He pauses. “Thinking about it.”
I gulp and hope it’s not too obvious. I’m thinking about it too. And about earlier, in his bed, and the fact that there’s no one to interrupt us this time.
“Are you weighing the pros and cons?” I ask, leaning into his touch.
“Only cons here, West.” He shakes his head. “You and me… we’re a story that won’t have a happy ending. A tragedy. Nothing good comes from a tragedy.”
“Well, maybe…” I grit my teeth so I don’t say something I’ll regret, and take a steadying breath. “Maybe I’d rather live in the wreckage with you for while than fake a fairy tale with someone else forever.”
Those dark eyes search mine, searing into me like fire. “What do you want from me, little girl? Because I’m almost certain I can’t give it to you.”
“For starters… stop calling melittle girl. I’m not one. I haven’t been for a long time.”
Gathering my courage, I swallow, take a deep breath, and step into him. Our chests collide — I have to crane my neck to keep his eyes on mine.
“And after that?” he asks, voice huskier than normal as I press against him.
“After that…”
Everything, my mind screams.I want everything!
If I tell him that, he’ll run from me so fast, Usain Bolt will look sluggish in comparison.
I shrug. “I barely know what I want for breakfast tomorrow. Hell, I might not even be alive tomorrow, if Mac gets his way. So… maybe I just want this. This moment. One single moment with you, where we lay down our weapons and stop trying to kill each other. A truce on the battleground. Nothing more.”
His jaw clenches as he looks at me. I can see the struggle playing out inside him. He wants me — so bad it’s nearly killing him — and he’s not exactly thrilled about it. In fact, judging by the scowl on his face, I think it’s safe to say he’s downright pissed about it. So pissed, I actually think he’s going to walk away.
Which explains why I nearly have a heart attack when his arms shoot out and he lifts me up onto the messy, dough-covered countertop in one swift motion, spreading my legs apart so he can step between them. I’ve barely had time to catch my breath when his mouth lands on mine in a crushing kiss.
“You taste like cookies,” he mutters, groaning a little as his teeth nip at my bottom lip.
I grin against his mouth, laughing as I deepen the kiss. All it takes is a few seconds, a quick stroke of tongues, and we’re back exactly where we were earlier.Combustible. My shirt disappears. My legs wrap around his waist. Our mouths cling and gasp until I taste the coppery tang of blood instead of sweet sugar and chocolate.
It’s almost violent.
I was wrong, when I said I wanted a moment with him where we weren’t trying to kill each other. I realize now, there’ll never be a moment like that. Nate and me… we aren’t built for truces, for good times, for light jokes and giggles. We’re meant for the shadows. For the dirty, ugly, secret parts of our souls, the parts we can’t hide because we know each other too well.
There’s never going to be a Honeymoon Phase with him. I can’t pretend not to see his flaws — I know them almost as well as my own. He won’t deny my imperfections — he’s seen them since we were kids. We cut straight through to the heart of each other long ago. I’ve got my finger on his pulse point and he’s got his hand wrapped around every chamber of my heart. One squeeze, we’re both dead. Mutually assured destruction.
The kiss builds into something I can hardly describe. We’re at war — fighting for the same thing but unable to lay our weapons down and get there.
He growls as he pushes himself up onto the counter, shoving me back against the butcher-block and stretching out above me. There’s flour in my hair, on my hands, streaking his skin everywhere I touch him.
I barely notice.
My nails scratch down his back, his teeth scrape at my ear. He’s barely touched me and I’m coming undone. In another minute, I’ll—
Bang, bang, bang.