Chapter 12 #2
“Fine. Great. I’m so glad you’re enjoying this.” I downed the rest of my vodka, slammed the glass onto the table, and stood, turning for my bedroom.
Behind me, I heard the creak of the other sofa as Alaric stood too. “I’m sorry. Please, just—just trust me a little longer.”
I wanted to shout that I didn’t trust him, but that would’ve been a lie. Inexplicably, I did trust him. I probably trusted him more than myself.
So, I spun, stalking back into the room, every muscle in my body humming with fatigue and fury. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? You got what you wanted. Why are you doing this to me?”
He met my gaze, blue eyes somber and searching. “I’m trying to make things right for you.”
I laughed, sharp and raw like the crack of a whip. “Make what things right for me? You don’t need to make anything right for me. I’m not one of your charity projects. I don’t require your investment.”
He started to speak, but I bulldozed over him, “Alaric, listen. Just listen to me. I’m not your responsibility.
You don’t owe me anything. There is nothing between us, nothing for you to make up.
So, I wish you would let me end the contract so I can get back to my life and you can get back to yours. ”
He shoved a hand through his hair, eyes closed, a tic of real frustration. “Even if I end the contract, I don’t think I can leave you alone.”
My chest constricted so I folded my arms over it. “Why not? Because you feel sorry for me? Because I’m ‘miserly’ and ‘greedy’ and have no social life?”
Alaric’s head shake was firm and his jaw ticked again. “I don’t feel sorry for you. At least, not like you mean. That’s not why I can’t leave you alone.”
“Then why? What the hell do you want from me?!”
His blue eyes burned with a sudden spark of real temper. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. What do I have to do? Cover every ceiling in mistletoe?”
I blinked, thrown by the conviction and anguish in his voice. If my brain hadn’t been slowly steeping in two glasses of vodka, I would’ve left the room at this point.
But the liquor made me stupid. “Is this about you liking me when we were younger? So what? You liked me. That was eighteen years ago.”
He laughed, not with derision but with a kind of resigned wonder. “No, Alison. I liked ice cream when I was younger. What I felt for you was a lot more than just liking someone.”
“Don’t tell me you still like me now.” I squinted at him like I might’ve done at a magic trick, wondering if he’d tied a secret string somewhere in the vicinity of my heart and tugged on it whenever he wanted my feelings to magically appear.
He shrugged, “Fine. I won’t tell you that I still more-than-like you now.”
I leaned back on my heels, shaking my head and exhaling loudly. The gall of this man! The audacity!
“You’re a sadist, aren’t you?” I spat, pointing at his criminally gorgeous face.
He caught my finger and held it. “I’m not a sadist. At least, I don’t think I am.” Then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he added in a deep timbre, “But maybe you should tie me up, just to be certain.”
The words tripped something in my brain. I felt my limbs, neck, chest, and lower flash hot, followed by the warm simmer of a heavy, slow, syrupy slide. I instantly blamed the vodka.
“Would it be so bad if something happened between us?” he said, closing the distance and using my captured finger as leverage to keep me in place. “Would you hate it so much if we still knew each other, saw each other, once the three days are over?”
I could only look at him dumbly, how he stood there in his deliberately understated everything, hope in his eyes, and I felt the building urge to push him away battle with the rising desire to pull him closer.
What was wrong with me? How could I want two things equally that were so diametrically opposed? I don’t want them both equally. I want him more.
Except, he deserved so much better than someone like me. That was the real reason I would never give in. And this situation required an intervention, for both our sakes.
“You know what I think?” I croaked out.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up. “Tell me,” he begged. Or, at least he made the two words sound like he was begging.
Another flash of heat wound me tight, but I managed a shrug, careful to keep my voice neutral. “I think you find me so fascinating because I’m the only person in this world who you believe has never given a shit about what you think or whether you like me.”
. . . who you believe . . .
Internally, I applauded myself for the careful word choice, meant to misdirect while remaining technically honest.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face. “I would argue that you do give a shit whether I like you. In fact, I think you actively want me to dislike you.”
See? He understood everything. He saw everything.
Pulling my hostage finger from his grip, I sidestepped the truth. “And if I did like you, if your opinion did matter to me, what then?”
He grinned, but there was a recklessness to it, a glint in his eyes I hadn’t seen from him before. “We’d get married?”
I gave him a look so flat it could have been used as a coaster. “Nooo. . .” I drew the word out. “If I returned your feelings, you would grow bored of me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
I nodded, mocking. “Admit it. You like the chase, that’s it. That’s all this is. That’s all this has ever been.”
He shook his head, a wry smile twisting at his mouth. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “You think so, huh?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Maybe we should put your theory to the test. Maybe you should return my feelings, date me, and we’ll see what happens.”
“Or we could just sleep together,” I said, tossing the words out like a lit match.
He choked on nothing, eyes blinking wide, clearly caught off guard, and then recovered on the dismount. “Okay. Sure. Yes. Good idea. Let’s try that.”
“Fine. Let’s.”
I reached for the hem of my shirt, gripping it and pulling it up in a deliberate, dispassionate motion. The cotton bunched at my waist and I braced to whip it over my head, but before I could get past my belly button, Alaric grabbed my wrists, pinning my hands.
“What are you doing?” His voice was a low growl.
“I’m taking off my clothes,” I said, deadpan. “But I guess we don’t have to be naked to sleep together.”
His jaw worked, the muscle jumping again under his skin, and he looked at me with furious, exquisite concentration. Neither of us moved, although his breathing had grown somewhat labored.
“Good night, Alison,” he ground out, releasing my hands like he was tossing them away.
Alaric stepped back, but I held my palms up, gesturing at his retreat accusingly. “Ha! I was right. The moment I show any interest, you—”
Alaric lunged forward, backed me up to the nearest wall in a rush so fast the world spun. His big hands caught my waist, hard, and he pulled me forward, crushing me against his torso. His mouth sought mine before I could gasp, before I could even think.