18. Flirting
EIGHTEEN
FLIRTING
HAVEN
Connor is leaning against the doorjamb, filling the entire doorway though his feet are definitely inside the room. He has a determined look on his face, a slight twitch to his lips, and he’s still holding the foxglove in his hand.
“Seriously?” he asks, like I’m the one being unreasonable. “Was that necessary, lollipop? Running away right after I ripped open my chest and told you how much I fucking love you so that, this time, you can’t deny it? That I always have loved you, and now it’s time you understand I always will?”
My reaction is instinctive: I stick my tongue out at him. Lollipop? Was that necessary?
And when did he say any of that? I stopped listening to him… and maybe I shouldn’t have.
Uh-oh.
Despite the hint of frustration clinging to his broad shoulders, there’s no denying the sudden heat that fills his expression, and my cheeks go red when I understand why that is.
Shit. I’ve been so careful, not making any offers that I can’t stand by.
Flipping him the middle finger is one thing. But sticking out my tongue at him?
In answer, his darts out, dabbing at the corner of his mouth as he takes a big, purposeful step inside my sanctuary.
I retreat automatically, hating myself the second I do it. Hating that my body still moves before my mind can stop it. Hating that I back away from him like I backed away from them, like he’s the same kind of danger just because he’s big and male and blocking the only exit to this tiny room.
I fucking love you…
I back up, but for the first time since I woke up in his bed and he told me not to worry, that I was safe with him, he continues coming for me, crowding me until I hit the wall.
Suddenly, one hand lands beside my head, his palm flat against the plaster.
Not touching me. Not restraining me. Just there, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, close enough that his scent—a combination of his soap and his morning coffee and something undeniably Connor—completely surrounds me.
The foxglove dangles from his other hand, the poisonous, purple bells swaying inches from my face.
“Haven…”
I gulp.
There’s something about the way he says my name like that. When he isn’t teasing or tacking on another annoying nickname like he’s searching for the right one to saddle me with.
Not lollipop. Not darling. Not sweetie.
Just Haven.
His voice is both low and rough, and it strikes me at that very moment that I’ve made a big mistake.
All along, I’ve been looking at Connor Heyward and remembering the boy he was.
The eighteen-year-old kid who made such a lasting impression on me before I spent the next nine-plus years avoiding him as best I could.
But, somewhere in those last nine years, Connor became a man—and I’m looking dead at him as he dips his chin so that I have no choice but to do so.
It seems to me like the time for games is over. Teasing? Not right now. He’s nothing short of serious as he closes the gap between us, the warmth of his breath washing over me as he speaks.
"Haven't I made it clear?” He shifts his hand, bringing the foxglove closer to me. “Crystal fucking clear? I've always been yours, Haven." The poisonous flower brushes my cheek as Connor leans even further in, whispering against my lips. "And you will always be mine."
That’s what he thinks…
He’s still too, too close. I glare up at him, torn between wanting to shove him away and yanking his shirt so I can pull him closer—and I hate that that’s even an impulse.
Worse, I want him to know that he gave me this room, he told me it was mine…
and here he is, crowding me while twirling the foxglove.
But I can’t bring myself to say the words, so I only hope the twist of my features tells him exactly how I feel.
This is all Connor’s fault. The only time I finally found my voice after what happened to me, he scarred me by his reaction.
What kind of fucked-up creep grunts and comes in his pants because I finally found it in me to tell him to let me go?
And, okay, maybe it was the way I had his knife to his throat that made Connor go off like a rocket.
That’s just what I would expect from him.
Just like how he somehow must’ve gotten the idea that bringing me a fresh cutting of an infamously poisonous plant must count as bringing me flowers…
He needs to get out of here. He needs to stop saying things he can’t mean. He needs to go… but that’s not what he does.
Before I can shake my head, mouth the word ‘no’, or find the nerve to shove him away from me, he closes the last of the space between us, taking my lips like he did the night I bit him.
Only this time? I don’t bite him.
Instead, with the clear threat of the foxglove whispering against my skin, I lose myself in Connor as I kiss him back.
If there was one thing that I refused to let any of my previous captors do, it was kiss me.
That was an intimacy that seemed even crueler.
It was… not easy, but simpler to go along with the assault because that’s all it was.
They were using my body to get off the only way they could.
There was no reason for any of them to put their lips near mine, especially after they had their dicks in my mouth.
But Connor… when he’s kissing me, I can almost forget that staying here with him…
it’s not my choice. I didn’t ask for this.
I don’t want it. And yet, stuck between his warm chest and the cool wall at my back, I’m not a passive participant in this kiss.
I give him what he wants because, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when men take, it hurts if you don’t give in.
If it wasn’t for the foxglove and the threat it represents, I might’ve even enjoyed this kiss.
It helps that Connor isn’t being forceful.
He doesn’t crush his mouth to mine. Doesn’t grab my face.
Doesn’t make me open up for him. His lips brush mine softly, almost carefully, like he knows how easy it would be for me to shatter, and he refuses to be the thing that breaks me completely.
Too late, baby. I was broken when you stole me from that warehouse.
Does he realize that? I’m not sure he does.
Connor makes a low sound of pleasure in his throat, and when he draws back, his forehead brushes mine for a heartbeat.
His deep blue eyes are bright, almost pleased, as if the fact that I kissed him meant something other than I was frightened he might poison me if I tried to fight him off.
In the next heartbeat, his entire expression shifts. His smile slips off of his face, his cheeks jut out as he sucks in a breath, and his eyes… they turn frantic as he takes in my shallow breathing, my tight body, and the way I’m watching the bob of the purple bells out of the corner of my eye.
Because it’s still there. The foxglove is pressed against my cheek, and Connor is the one holding it in place.
During those forty-three days in captivity, I fought for so long.
So hard. But there came a moment when I had to accept that even the best fighters know when to lay down their weapons.
Be a good girl and it’ll be over soon. Do what you’re told and it won’t be so bad.
I tried, and I learned, and they were all fucking liars.
Connor lies, too. He said he would never hurt me. He said he would never force me. He said he loves me, and that I’m his… but there’s someone beautiful and dangerous in this small room—just like the foxglove—only it isn’t me.
It’s Connor Heyward.
I’m barely breathing, hoping he’ll remove the foxglove from my skin. Connor follows my gaze to the flower, then back to me. Understanding hits him so visibly that, for a second, he looks almost sick.
“Oh.” Forget sick. He looks horrified. “Shit. No. You think I’m threatening you. With the flower… oh, Haven, no.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
The silence says it all for me.
Connor lowers the flower immediately. “Jesus Christ. I’m such a fucking idiot.”
He drags his free hand over his face, the foxglove drooping forgotten at his side. For the first time since he moved me into the basement, he looks rattled. Not amused. Not smug. Not pleased with himself and my reaction.
Scared.
“Haven, no. Baby, no. It’s not like that.”
I don’t believe him. Why would I?
The flower is poisonous. I’m trapped with this deranged monster, and I’m finally beginning to understand just how obsessed he is with the thought of owning the old Haven Smith—even if it means he has to struggle to make something of the woman I am now.
Seriously, Connor. What else am I supposed to think?
Connor exhales, the sound almost like a laugh, but definitely not a happy one. More like he can’t believe how badly he screwed this up.
“That wasn’t a threat,” he says, and he sounds earnest enough, I wish I could believe him. And then he says, “That was me flirting with you,” and all I can do is stare at him in disbelief.
Flirting?
I mouth the word: Flirting?
Connor gestures at the foxglove, then at me, before placing his palm to his chest. “As God as my witness, sweetheart, I was trying to be romantic. I fucking mean it. I thought you’d think I was being so smooth, pointing out how beautiful and dangerous you are, just like the foxglove.
I never meant for you to think I’d ever use it against you. ”
My expression tell hims exactly what I think of that.
He huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “Yeah. Okay. I can see how badly that landed. But it’s true. It’s for the same reason that I don’t drop some weedkiller in the window well to get rid of them. I like these flowers. I was telling the truth before. They remind me of you.”
Connor lifts the stem again, though this time he keeps it away from my skin. “This flower reminds me of the Haven I’ve always loved. Strong.”
Fucking hell, Connor. I’m not strong—
“Stubborn.”
Okay. I used to be—
His mouth curves faintly. “Dangerous as hell ‘cause of the poison, but”—and his eyes move over my face—“so very fucking beautiful, too.”
That’s something else I wish I could believe. I also wish I could call bullshit on everything he’s saying…
“Everyone focuses on the poison,” Connor says. “That’s the first thing people think about. How deadly it is. How something so pretty can stop your heart if you’re stupid enough to let it.” His thumb strokes the stem. “And maybe that’s the point.”
Suddenly, I’m not so sure that we’re still talking about the flower. When it comes to Connor… the things he says sometimes only make sense inside his own broken head, and I’m beginning to think this is one of them—
“Some things are bad for you,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. “You know they are. You know they can ruin you. Poison you. Destroy everything you thought you were supposed to be.” His gaze locks onto mine. “And, because you love it, you still can’t stay away.”
My pulse stutters. Damn it if he hasn’t managed to pluck a similar thought right out of my head. Because the last time I ran from him, there was a part of me that almost didn’t want to, and here I am, falling under his spell again.
His lips twitch, and there’s that familiar wicked smirk of his. “No one should want poison, Haven. No one sane, anyway. Though, have to say, I’ve never been all that sane when it comes to you.”
That, at least, seems to be true.
I swallow, words rising up inside my throat. Words that I just can’t find it in me to say.
That’s okay. He’s not done yet.
“For nine years, I’ve known exactly who I wanted.
I understood the rules. The Order traps all of us until we’re damn near thirty, one way or another.
Adrian had to make his move before I could make mine.
He was supposed to Claim Loni. I was supposed to Claim you.
” A humorless laugh slips out of him. “Trust me, we both had a plan, Adrian and me. A good one, too, before everything went to shit.”
A plan. Of course they had a plan. Adrian Heller, the goddamn Kingmaker, and Connor Heyward, the obsessive lunatic, had a plan for me and Loni. Only Loni got out, and I stayed, and for nine years, I believed that I was forgotten—and maybe I was, but not by Connor.
Nine years…
I think of the basement. My sanctuary. The ‘H’ carved into his arm from way back then, and how he’s not hiding his insanity from me anymore. Almost like he’s made up his mind, and making sure I understand that this is it for us is the next stage of whatever plan he’s running right now.
The reason for that becomes clear when he bites out: “They took you from me. I won’t let anyone do that ever again.”
The words are so raw, so angry, I almost flinch again.
He sees my barely concealed fright, lowering his voice as if it isn’t the sentiment behind the words themselves that are scaring the shit out of me.
“I mean it. I won’t lose you again. If I have to keep you here with me so I know you’re safe, that’s what I’m going to do. Someday, you’ll understand. Someday you’ll know just how far I’ve gone for you, and how much farther I’m willing to go. And when you do? I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
Does he think that his promise comforts me?
I mean, maybe they would have once. Maybe eighteen-year-old Haven would have heard Connor say that and felt chosen.
Wanted. Maybe the girl who stood at the Claiming ceremony and waited for him to Claim her over Adrian like he promised would have given a shit that he obsessively spent nine years plotting the moment he could tell me that he’s always considered us a pair.
Unfortunately for Connor, I’m not that Haven Smith anymore.
I don’t think that’s going to stop him, though.
Listening to Connor, I’ve finally figured it out.
This… it isn’t temporary like I wanted to believe.
Connor isn’t just keeping me here until I get better.
This isn’t about me trusting him or him taking care of me instead of leaving my trauma to the professionals.
Nope. This is him making himself as clear as possible: I’m not going anywhere.
Avoiding the insanity written in every line of his too-too-handsome face, hope radiating from his body as though he believes that his ‘love’ confession is somehow as romantic as comparing me to foxglove, my attention turns to the flower he’s still holding.
You know what? Connor seems to think love can be poison, too. Maybe he’s got a point.
Because standing here, still trapped between him and the wall, I finally understand that there will be no convincing Connor to let me go. No reasoning with him. No future where he wakes up and realizes that keeping me against my will is wrong. He’s keeping me, and that’s that.
Or is it?
If I want my freedom, I’ll have to take it. And if Connor Heyward thinks I’m strong and stubborn and dangerous?
Fine.
For him, I’ll be all of that. I’ll be exactly what he thinks he wants.
And if poisoning him is what it takes to escape this ‘love’ he has for me, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.