Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(20)

He shook his head, the words strained and choked when he admitted, “And I want it to matter.”

Caught off guard, I twisted my upper body toward him. “This is for Shea and Sebastian? For the rehearsal party tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.”

That buzz hummed.

The air was so full, my strained breaths skidded in and out of my lungs. My chest trembled with a heave of confusion.

Unable to continue looking at this perplexing, infuriating, beautiful man, I turned away again. Pretended I didn’t feel the roll of the ground as it shook beneath my feet.

But it was there.

Intensity skating the space just below the surface of my skin.

Something significant and scary.

Something powerful and bold compelling me toward twilight.

As if I was drawn to the darkness that set around him as if he held the power to cast away the light.

And I knew I should pack it up and leave. Run because running was what I did best.

Instead, I got sucked deeper into his living room, unable to tear myself away.

My fingers played along the pieces of cut fabric, trying to make sense of what I’d walked into. Trying to make sense of this menacing, dangerous boy who wanted it to matter.

My attention caught on the crude patchwork teddy bear on his couch. I reached for it.

“Don’t touch that.”

The dark desperation in his voice stalled my hand that was already wrapped around the thin body. The mismatched pieces were tied and sewn together with brightly colored yarn to create a long, lanky bear in a way that had to have been taught but never perfected.

I could feel the deep furrow pulling between my brows as I looked his direction. Dumbfounded, I held it out toward him. “Is this for the baby? You made this?” It came out almost an accusation.

Pain flashed across his face, before it hardened. “Put it down.”

I shook my head. “Why?”

He threw the bag of frosting down and stalked toward me. “I’m warning you, Red. This truce only goes so far. I said to put it down.”

Good God. Who was this guy?

I blinked, searching desperately for my shields, but my heart was hammering, blood pulsing in my ears as he neared, that towering boy pressing his hard, hard body into mine.

He pried my fingers from the bear and tossed it back onto the couch. In the same movement, he had me backed into the wall, hands planted above me to keep me caged.

“What do you think you’re doing, Red?”

My head rocked back to see his face, his ridiculously tall body obliterating mine.

I felt so tiny beneath him. Small and insecure.

Fearful and brave and vulnerable.

For the first time in forever, I wanted to feel that way.

I needed to remember what living felt like.

Whatever hid within this boy compelled me to trust.

Dark eyes glinted like black diamonds, as if they could cut through my hardened exterior and find the girl hiding beneath.

As if he could reach out and touch her.

I grappled for an answer.

“I’m getting to know my new friend,” I whispered, voice shallow and hoarse.

I watched him vacillate in indecision, watched the thick bob of his tattooed throat as he swallowed, before he brought his thumb up to trace my bottom lip. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Those intense eyes were transfixed on the motion, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

He seemed torn as he leaned in, body rigid, simmering in doubt and uncertainty and the same insane attraction that refused to let us go. Tension wrapped us, filling the air, covering and coaxing and begging.

That dark, dark pull beckoned me closer.

Lyrik West was going to kiss me.

And God, I was out of my mind, because I was going to let him.

I whimpered when instead he dipped his thumb inside my mouth.

Lust—this hunger that’d simmered since the moment he’d first walked through Charlie’s doors—flamed through me like a flash fire, twisting my stomach and throbbing between my legs.

Fueling my fears.

Feeding my desire.

He pressed against my tongue, and I knew exactly how giving in to him would taste. The sweet, sweet seduction. The danger. The promise of the most mind-blowing bliss.

Scariest of all was I could already feel the throb of the wounds he would leave behind.

This boy was nothing more than a wicked dream.

“We’re not really friends, now are we, Red?”

With his head cocked to the side, he murmured the warning up close to my face. “You and I both know better than that.”

He dragged his thumb free and trailed it down my neck.

My chin lifted and my stomach quivered as he headed toward my chest.

The callused pad of his thumb ran a path over the distorted heart tattoo that peeked out between the top buttons left undone on my shirt. He traced the inscription on the tattered ribbon that wrapped around the heart as if he were reading Braille.

Ante omnia cor tuum custodi.

Deciphering the words.

As if he could possibly understand my meaning behind it.

Guard your heart.

He suddenly stepped away. “Go home, Red.”

My body slumped forward at the loss of his, and I gasped.

Disoriented.

Rattled.

Mortified.

Anger and humiliation engulfed me, and I fumbled to gather my bearings as I staggered into blinding afternoon light. Inside, I begged for the walls to come up. For the mask to hide the hurt on my face.