Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(46)

“Thought you could get away from me, did you?”

“You stole my stock of guns, you menace! You wouldn’t shoot a defenseless girl, would you?” I batted my eyelashes at him in a foolish and useless attempt to distract him.

“Your womanly wiles are no match for me,” he laughed like a loud monotone villain as he pulled a bright, orange gun from behind his back. I cringed as he soaked me with stream after stream of freezing cold water. I sputtered and fought as he moved to crouch closer to me, his body prohibiting mine from getting away.

“Mercy!” I screeched from behind a curtain of water. “Mercy!”

Ryland chuckled and wiped the water that was dripping from my face with the palm of his hand.

“That was mean, Ry. You moved my guns.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” His voice seemed sincere, but he still hovered above me, biting his lip. He stayed there, above me, our eyes locking a bit too long. I felt my heart pulse; I wasn’t ready yet.

“Can I get up now?” I asked, pulling my shirt back down to cover my exposed stomach.

“Yeah.” Ryland moved away from me. A moment later, one of his white, fluffy towels landed on my face.

I sat up and began to wipe and blot at my face and clothes in an attempt to dry off. I moved my now damp hair around my ear, making sure everything that needed to be covered was.

“Where’s the sweater I gave you?” he asked as he fiddled with the large entertainment center.

“I had to leave it in Ilyan’s car last night, so my mom wouldn’t flip.”

Ryland jumped and took a frantic step toward me. The look on his face froze me in place on the floor.

“Who?” he roared.

“Wyn’s brother,” I said.

Ryland relaxed a bit, but something still seemed off.

“He’s a jerk, Ry. Like the epitome of a jerk older brother,” I offered him the first explanation I could think of. Even though his reaction didn’t fit with the protective crush theory I was going with.

Ryland studied me for a minute, his chest puffed and frozen in what…? Fear? Anger? I couldn’t place it. Finally, he turned away from me, back to the entertainment center, and I made my way to the couch where a large chili cheeseburger sat waiting for me on the coffee table.

“Sorry, about that,” Ryland said, his back still to me as he slid a DVD into the player. “I thought you were talking about someone else.”

“It’s okay, Ry. Don’t worry about it.”

Ryland sat beside me as the movie started, pulling his large burger onto his lap. The title of the movie came up in bloody, red letters, right before scary music kicked in and the camera panned over a lake.

“The Evil Dead? How scary is this? You know I don’t do scary, Ryland.”

“I think it’s more like over-the-top scary.”

I still looked at him skeptically as some lady from the 70s began to sing a song.

“It’s supposed to be funny.”

“Okay, but if it gets too scary, we’re turning it off.”

Ryland nodded at me and went back to the movie.

It was too scary; I didn’t even finish my burger. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have been that frightening; I was just a chicken. I wasn’t even sure what was going on. There was something about a book made out of human skin, and everyone kept turning into demons and trying to attack each other. And there was blood, lots of fake, watery blood. By about halfway through, I ended up plastered next to Ryland, his arm wrapped around me as I kept hiding my face in the collar of his yellow polo shirt.

“It’s over,” Ryland crooned, his hand rubbing my back.

“That was cruel, Ry. You made me watch the entire thing.” I didn’t even want to move my head from his chest.

“Well, you didn’t ask me to turn it off, either.” My head vibrated as a deep chuckle moved through him.

I couldn’t give a decent rebuttal. He was right; I hadn’t asked him to turn it off. I just sighed and moved closer to him. In all honesty, I was comfortable, and I knew he had planned to watch that stupid movie for this reason. So what if he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it?

The minutes ticked by, but I didn’t notice. Ryland’s hand continued to trace the lines of my back, his heartbeat steady in my ear. The movie had returned to the menu, the light from the screen casting the room in a stagnant, blue glow.

“Can I ask you something?” I said, his hand still rubbing up and down my spine.

“Mmmhmmm?”

I heard his voice more as a vibration through his chest.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“I say a lot of things,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“About not wanting to be like your father. About not wanting to run his company?”

He hesitated, and my body tensed. Was that not the right thing to ask him? I heard his heart rate accelerate and went to move away from him, but his strong arms held me in place.

“Yes, I meant it.”

“But, you always wanted to be… I mean, you have always tried to be…” My words came out all jumbled. I paused; I wasn’t sure how I wanted to say this.

“Growing up, yes, I always wanted to make him happy. I always wanted to become what he wanted me to be.” His fingertips stopped for a minute, tracing the skin at my neck before returning to my spine. My breath caught at the touch of his fingers against my skin; I could almost feel his smile at my reaction.