Chapter 18 #2
“Because I’m not just protecting you,” I grind out. “I’m answerable to Kael. To Brodie. I’m not just some guy you met in a bar, Tallulah. There are rules.”
“There are always rules,” she says. “Rules about where I can go, how I can help, what I’m allowed to know, who I’m allowed to be useful to. This is just one more way I’m a problem to manage.”
“That’s not—”
“You know what?” she cuts in. “Forget it. You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re doing your job. Good for you. I’ll add ‘kiss embargo’ to the list of things I’m not allowed to want right now.”
Her voice cracks on that last word. It guts me.
“This isn’t about you not being allowed to want things,” I say, softer. “It’s about me not being allowed to touch them.”
She pushes off the wall, stepping closer. Close enough that I can see flour still dusted along her jawline, a little streak on her collarbone where she must’ve scratched an itch.
“You already did,” she says quietly. “So what is this really, Bran? You suddenly remembered the HR department? Or somebody remind you that I’m just the asset and not worth complicating your life over?”
“That’s not—” I bite down so hard my teeth click. “Don’t put fecking words in my mouth.”
“Then say better ones,” she fires back. Her eyes are bright, hot. “Because right now what I’m hearing is ‘I wanted you, I took what I wanted, and now that it’s inconvenient I’m going to pretend it was a mistake.’”
I step into her space before I’ve decided to move.
She doesn’t back up.
My hand finds the wall by her head. The other finds her hip, fingers biting through cotton. Her breath stutters, chest brushing mine.
“You were not a mistake,” I say. The words come out rough, too close to a growl. “Nothing about last night was a mistake.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she whispers.
I’m close enough to count her lashes now. Close enough to see her pupils blow wide, to feel the tremor in the muscles of her stomach where my thumb presses in.
Kael’s warning bangs around in my skull, loud and useless.
Don’t touch her. Don’t—
I do it anyway.
“Just one more,” I hear myself say, like I’m bargaining with a part of me that’s already lost. “Then we stop.”
It’s a lie. We both know it.
Her fingers curl in the front of my shirt. “You’re not as in control as you think you are,” she says, and there’s a wild little smile at the corner of her mouth, like she’s decided that if we’re going to go to hell, she’s the one who’s going to kick the door.
Then she yanks me down.
The first clash of our mouths is messy, all teeth and anger and desperation. I lift my hand and then slam it flat against the wall by her head, the other tightening on her hip as I pin her there, body to body. She arches into me, her flour-smudged hoodie bunching under my fingers.
She tastes like sugar and salt and something that might be victory.
I kiss her like I’m trying to erase every second between last night and now. She kisses me like she’s trying to prove a point—see, this is what you’re walking away from, you idiot.
My self-control doesn’t just slip; it snaps.
Her back hits the wall harder than I intend. I feel the thud in my palm, feel the way she gasps into my mouth, and I have to drag my hand down from the wall to her jaw to soften the angle, to keep from consuming her completely.
She hooks one leg around my calf, though, dragging me closer.
I curve my hand around one ass cheek and squeeze, then do the same with its twin, relishing the feel of supple, giving flesh in my hands.
When she squirms against me, I wrap her legs around me and pin her between my body and the wall, pushing my cock against the heat of her pussy.
She makes a needy little sound, pushing back against me. I groan into her mouth, because I’m only human, and she’s made of sharp edges and soft places and every bad idea I’ve ever had.
This is exactly what Kael warned me about. I couldn’t tell you what’s going on behind me. Around us.
This is exactly why I didn’t care until now.
I could stay here forever. Five more seconds. Ten. Just enough to memorize the way she fits against me, the little sound she makes when I angle my mouth over hers and lick into her like I have every right.
That thought is what stops me.
I do not have the right.
I tear my mouth away, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing hard. My hand is still on her hip, fingers digging into her skin beneath the denim of her jeans. I make myself ease up, drop her feet to the floor.
“Bran,” she whispers. It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. A plea.
“This,” I say, voice wrecked. “Is exactly what can’t happen again.”
Her eyes flash. “You say that like you didn’t just do it.”
“I know,” I say. “Believe me, I know.”
“You can’t have it both ways,” she snaps. Her hands shove at my chest—not hard enough to move me, just hard enough to make her point. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and then tell me I’m off-limits. That’s not noble. That’s cruel.”
I flinch. I’ve been called a lot of things. Cruel fits better than noble, most days. Hearing it from her feels different.
“I’m trying to keep you alive,” I say.
“Congratulations,” she bites out. “You’ve also succeeded in making me furious.”
Her eyes are glossy, but she doesn’t cry. Of course she doesn’t. She just pulls in a breath that shakes a little at the edges and straightens her spine against the wall.
“Message received,” she says again, voice flat now. “Can I go back to my cookies, or am I under some new no-fun directive too?”
“Go,” I say, stepping back.
The space between us feels wrong. Cold.
She slips past me, shoulder brushing mine, and heads for the kitchen without looking back.
I lean my head against the wall for a second, eyes shut, swallowing down the urge to go after her, haul her back, apologize with my mouth instead of my words.
Footsteps approach. I drag myself upright just as Brodie appears at the end of the hall, phone in hand, taking in my face with a quick, assessing glance.
“Brady’s on with state,” he says. “Wants you two available in an hour if they decide they’re in the mood to listen to civilians.”
“Civilians,” Tallulah repeats from the kitchen, voice bright and brittle. “Rude.”
Brodie’s gaze flicks from her back to me. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but his mouth twists.
Poor bastard, those eyes say.
You’re in it now.
He’s not wrong.