If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(13)

“I couldn’t remember if I thanked you for what you did,” I tell her. “And I can’t get you out of my head.”

Her breath freezes on her lips. I can hear the startled little intake of breath and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Did the truth scare her? Or has she been thinking about me too?

I look at her.

And for a moment, we are suspended in the moment. She drags her bottom lip into her teeth and her green eyes are liquid. She turns her face slightly, the curve of her cheek catching the sunlight from the window.

We are frozen.

And then she breaks the spell.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” she whispers. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “Maybe I feel like I owe you.”

“You don’t,” she answers quickly, her voice clear and sure. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m glad I was there to help, but it was purely coincidence and anyone would have done the same. ”

Her hands flutter around her nervously as she shuffles paper on the counter. I shake my head and smile.

“Not everyone would have done that,” I tell her. “Not at all.”

She’s hesitant now, probably remembering that night and how I had apparently puked all over her. Finally, she smiles too.

“Okay, fine. Not everyone would have given you mouth to mouth. Maybe you do owe me. What are you going to do about it?”

Her sassy words seem to startle her as much as they startle me. She looks surprised as soon as they are out of her mouth. But she’s nowhere near as surprised as I am. Is she flirting? With me?

My, what big teeth I have.

I once again feel like the wolf as I smile at her, as I turn on my charm. I have it, I just seldom care enough to use it. I’m baffled as to why I’m using it now. But I am. Because her sassiness was an invitation.

“Hmm,” I answer, grinning my best flirtatious grin. “What would you like? A pint of blood?”

She laughs, nervous and musical, before she shakes her head. “No, I gave up drinking blood a long time ago. I developed an allergy.”

Warmth floods through me before I can stop it. She has a sense of humor. I love that in a woman. I grin back.

“Okay, noted. No blood for you. Okay, I’ve got it. Clearly, you’re an artist who likes to feature the lake in your work. I happen to have one of the best views in Angel Bay from my beach. It’s private and quiet and no one will bother you. You can use it whenever you’d like. How about that?”

I don’t know why I just offered that. There is utter silence and I can feel my heart pound as I wait for her to respond. Why do I care what she says? But I wait, holding my breath, until she speaks.

“That’s quite an offer,” she finally says, her gaze still holding mine. We seem to be doing a lot of staring today. “Do you live alone? I’d hate to disturb anyone.”

I’m more relieved by her answer than I care to admit. And then I’m amused.

She’s fishing.

“You’re very direct,” I answer, my lip twitching again. “Most girls try to be more subtle when they ask if I have a girlfriend. But the answer is no. I’m not married. And I don’t have a girlfriend. You won’t be disturbing anyone.”

She blushes now, a faint pink that spreads from her cheeks down to her chest. I like it. It’s seems very soft, very feminine. Once again, I fight the urge to reach out and trace the delicate color with my thumb. What the f*ck is wrong with me? I jam my hand into my pocket instead.

“Hmm,” she answers. “It seems a shame to waste a view like that on one person. I bet sunrises are amazing there. Something like that should be shared.”

I laugh now, loudly. She completely just walked into this and I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean to.

“You don’t have to beat around the bush about it, Mila. If you want to be there at sunrise, just pack an overnight bag when you come out.”

No one could miss my suggestive tone.

And she doesn’t.

She blushes again, her cheeks bright red.

“That’s not what I meant,” she mumbles. She’s embarrassed and I like it.

“No?” I ask, my eyebrow still cocked. “Because I can certainly arrange a sleepover.”

“I’m sure,” she says wryly. “But no. Thank you for the invite, though.” She’s laughing now, her blush fading. “Truly, thank you for the offer of your beach. I can paint the lake from memory, but it’s always nice to actually be there looking at it. A new view will be great. Artists are visual people.”

The air seems to whoosh out of me for some reason and I don’t even know why. Perhaps it is the thought of her sleeping over. Or maybe it is the sound of her voice. It seems to have a profound effect on me.

I step toward her and she looks uncertain, but she doesn’t move away.

“Men are visual too,” I tell her softly, my eyes frozen on hers. “So I understand. But there is something that bothers me, something that puts me at a disadvantage. And I really don’t like feeling disadvantaged.”

“What is it?” she asks, her eyes not leaving mine.

“You’ve seen me at my worst. Maybe you should see me at my best.”

My words hang between us, heavy and charged, and I don’t know what the f*ck I am doing.