Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(77)

My arms are seized, squeezed in an unrelenting grip. “Davy! Stop!”

I know the voice immediately.

Freezing, I glare up at Sean’s shadow in the gloom of the room. “What are you doing in here?”

His hands don’t drop from my arms as he shuts the door on us, sealing us in. He holds me from him. Looking me over in the near darkness. With one hand he flips on the light switch, his gaze scans all of me, setting my skin afire everywhere he looks . . . which is . . . everywhere.

“Are you all right?”

I lift up my shoulders and arms and throw off his hands. “Don’t touch me. Please. I just can’t have you touch me.”

Because it’s all I want. All I want and can’t ever have. Not anymore.

His eyes cloud over, so full of anguish. “I’m so sorry, Davy.”

I hold up a hand, closing my eyes and shaking my head. “Stop. We’re not doing this.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Stop! Don’t say it.” I punch him then, furious. I slap his arms and chest with both hands. “Don’t say I didn’t have to do it.”

How can he think I had a choice? How dare he imply I could have let him die? The only thing I can cling to is the belief that I had to shoot that man.

“Davy.” He snatches hold of my hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

Panting, I tug my arms free and wave toward the door, shaking. “Just go. You shouldn’t even be here. This is the girls’ floor. They’re about to lock up.”

He doesn’t budge.

“I don’t need them thinking we’re closer than we are.” I say this even though I know that doesn’t matter anymore.

“They already know you’d kill to protect me. What difference does it make now?”

I swallow against the scratchy thickness in my throat. “I don’t want friends around they can use against me.”

“Well, too bad. I’m here.” He steps closer. “You don’t want to go through this alone.”

Want. I close my eyes in an agonized blink, thinking about what I want. I want this day undone. I want that man not dead. “What I want hasn’t mattered in a long time. This is what needs to happen.” It’s the only way I can live with myself.

“Look. I never imagined them making you do something like that. . . . Using me . . .” His voice fades away and he looks down at his hands. I study his profile, the lines of his face stark and harshly beautiful in the unforgiving light.

“They’ll do it again,” I whisper, lifting my face, staring blindly at the ceiling tiles. See only brown eyes. Hear only the crack of the gun, the drop of the carrier’s body on the dirt. That’s it, all there is, the only sound in my head. No more music. Just this. “God, I can’t do that again. There won’t be anything left of me—” I stop with a choke, wondering if there’s anything left of me now.

They were right all along. I’m a killer. The only hope I have now is to finish the program and get out of here as soon as possible. Get the imprint removed from my neck. Gain some semblance of freedom, of normalcy, for myself.

“You have to go. Don’t come here again.” I pause, take a breath, and swallow.

He looks up at me and just stares. “I can’t pretend you don’t exist for me.”

I stop just short of jabbing him in the chest. Something about him, so large, so close, the aroma of night and wind still upon him, makes me keep my hand to myself. I make a small sound, part laugh, part moan. “Sure you can.” I step past him to open the door for him to leave, but I don’t get that far.

He grabs my arm and whirls me around, smacking me right against him. I strain to get away, arching my body. His eyes hold me again. It’s always his eyes. The gray-blue so seductive, like smoke weaving its spell on me.

One of his hands cups the back of my head, fingers weaving into the wet strands. Everything inside me stills, locks tight as his palm curves around the back of my skull. I can only look into those eyes. Watch him watching me. Stare helplessly when his gaze drops to my mouth.

His head moves down swiftly, stopping just a half inch from my lips. Our breaths merge, mingle. His hand flexes in my hair, as if testing the wet texture.

Then he closes the space between us. Kisses me finally. Sensation explodes inside me when his lips touch mine. It’s not tentative or shy like most first kisses. The ones I’ve had anyway.

It’s urgent and full of need. Hungry and desperate. The perfect force and pressure. I slide my hands around his neck, twine my fingers up through his hair.

I stretch onto my tiptoes. His hand on my arm moves to wrap around my waist, lifting me, plastering me against him.

“You smell so good,” he mutters against my mouth. Feelings and sensations rush me, killing the misery, temporarily ridding it from my system. Later is soon enough to remember what I am, what I’ve become.

I make a small mewling sound, kissing him harder as he carries me to the foot of the bed. I’m glad for the small room. Glad to reach the bed so quickly.

His body settles over mine. I fist my hands into his shirt, clutching the fabric, hating it, wanting to tear it, shred it from his body as his mouth devours mine.

His hands move like the wind, soundless and sudden. Warm and caressing. His fingers slide over my skin, stroking, brushing everywhere. My hair. My face. My neck. Under my shirt. Against my stomach.