Chapter 3 #2
The realization hit me like a slap shot to the throat. She liked that I stopped him. She liked the boundary.
"Thirsty?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.
"Parched," she whispered.
We moved through the kitchen. It was packed. People were grinding against the counters, spilling drinks. I kept a hand hovering near the small of her back, not touching, just creating a forcefield. I guided her through the mass of bodies, using my size to part the crowd.
Every time a guy looked at her—and they all looked—I met their gaze. I held it until they looked away.
It was primal. It was stupid. It was necessary.
We reached the back porch. It was quieter here, though the bass still vibrated through the floorboards. There were a few smokers huddled in the corner, but otherwise, it was empty.
I leaned against the railing, the cold night air cooling the sweat on the back of my neck. Imogen leaned next to me, looking out at the snowy backyard where someone had written 'KODIAKS RULE' in yellow snow.
"Classy," she noted.
"It’s a hockey house," I said. "Expectations should be low."
"My expectations are underground," she said. She turned to face me, resting her hip against the railing. The movement pulled the leather tight across her thighs.
I looked away, focusing on a pine tree in the distance.
"Why do you do it?" she asked suddenly.
"Do what?"
"This," she gestured between us. "The bodyguard act. You barely know me. You clearly don't like me. But you almost broke Jinx's wrist for trying to touch my arm."
"I didn't almost break it," I said. "I just redirected it."
" semantics," she said. "You're intense, Vane. It’s... unnerving."
"You're my assignment, Imogen," I said, turning back to her. "If you get into trouble, I lose my scholarship. Jinx is an idiot. Idiots cause trouble. Therefore, I manage Jinx."
"Is that all it is?" She took a step closer. "Risk management?"
She was challenging me again. Pushing the button to see if the machine would explode.
"What else would it be?" I asked.
"I don't know," she murmured. She reached out, her hand hovering over the zipper of my jacket. She didn't touch me, but I could feel the heat of her fingers. "Maybe you just like being in control."
"Someone has to be," I said. "Since you seem incapable of it."
Her eyes flashed. "I'm perfectly capable of control. I just choose chaos. It’s more fun."
"It’s childish," I corrected.
"Is it?" She stepped in, closing the gap. We were inches apart now. I could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "Then why are you looking at my mouth, Max?"
I froze.
I was looking at her mouth. It was that bruised, dark red color. It looked soft. It looked like it would taste like trouble.
The air between us crackled. The noise of the party faded into white noise. All I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.
My hand twitched. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to wrap my hand around her throat, just tight enough to make her gasp, and tilt her head back. I wanted to wipe that smirk off her face with my mouth.
Forbidden. Dean's Daughter. Teammate's Sister. Scholarship.
The words were a mantra, a shield.
"I'm looking at your mouth," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper, "because you haven't stopped talking since we got here."
She blinked. The insult landed, but she didn't recoil. She smiled. A slow, dangerous smile.
"Make me stop," she challenged.
The breath stalled in my lungs.
Checkmate.
She knew exactly what she was doing. She was daring me. She was begging for it.
I leaned down. I brought my face so close to hers that our noses brushed. I saw her breath hitch. I saw her eyes flutter shut, waiting.
I stayed there for a heartbeat, letting the tension coil tight enough to snap a bone.
Then, I pulled back.
"We're leaving," I said abruptly.
Her eyes snapped open. Confusion, then anger, flooded her face.
"What?"
"Two drink maximum," I said, turning toward the door. "And I've had enough of you for one night."
"I haven't even had a drink!" she shouted after me.
"Good," I called back without stopping. "Then you won't be hungover for our study session."
I walked back into the noise of the house, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I had to get out of there. I had to get her back to The Cage.
Because if I stayed in the dark with her for one more second, I wasn't going to be the Warden anymore.
I was going to be the criminal.
Max
The drive home was silent.
Not the comfortable silence of my apartment. This was a jagged, angry silence. Imogen sat with her arms crossed, staring out the window, radiating heat.
We pulled into the garage. We took the elevator up.
I unlocked the door to the apartment. The stillness greeted us.
Imogen kicked off her boots, sending them skidding across the polished concrete.
"Hey," I warned.
"Oops," she said, deadpan. She walked into the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter, her legs dangling. "So. Are we going to talk about the fact that you almost kissed me?"
"I didn't almost kiss you," I said, hanging my coat up. "I was intimidating you."
"Is that what you call it?" She laughed. "Honey, I've been intimidated by Senators and CEOs. You were looking at me like you wanted to eat me."
I walked into the kitchen. I stopped in front of her. She was sitting on the counter, which put her at eye level with me. It was a dangerous position.
"Imogen," I said. "We need to get something straight."
"I'm listening."
"You are here to work," I said. "I am here to work. We are not friends. We are not... whatever that was back there."
"Whatever that was?" She raised an eyebrow. "That was chemistry, Max. And it’s annoying, frankly. I don't usually go for the brooding, emotionally constipated type."
"And I don't go for spoiled children," I shot back.
She flinched. Good.
"Here are the rules," I said, counting them off on my fingers. "One: You are up at 7:00 AM every morning. Two: You study for three hours a day, minimum, in the common area where I can see you. Three: No boys in this apartment. Ever."
She rolled her eyes. "You're a monk. Do I have to take a vow of chastity too?"
"Four," I stepped closer, placing my hands on the counter on either side of her thighs, trapping her. "You do not provoke me."
Her breath hitched again. She looked down at my hands, then up at my face.
"Define provoke," she whispered.
"You know what it means," I said. "Don't climb on the furniture. Don't wear... that... when we're alone. And don't look at me like you're waiting for me to do something about it."
She licked her lips. "And if I break the rules?"
I leaned in. This was the moment. The line in the sand.
"Then I stop being your roommate," I said softly. "And I start being your Warden. And you won't like the corrections, Imogen. Corner time is the least of your worries."
I let the threat hang there. It was ambiguous. It was heavy with the promise of something physical, something disciplinary.
Her eyes darkened. She shifted on the counter, a subtle friction of leather against granite.
"Maybe I will," she challenged breathlessly.
"Go to bed," I commanded, pushing off the counter and turning my back on her. "Now."
I walked to the fridge and opened it, staring blindly at the rows of bottled water.
I heard her slide off the counter. I heard her soft footsteps retreat down the hall. I heard her bedroom door click shut.
I gripped the door of the fridge until my knuckles turned white.
I was in trouble.
I was in so much trouble.
I grabbed a bottle of water and downed it in one go, trying to drown the fire in my gut.
It didn't work.
Welcome to hell, Vane.