He wants me.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” I manage to say, almost steadily.
He grins. My hormones react wildly. “You should be scared of me right now, little girl.”
Sexy banter. I can do this. Taking a deep breath, I boldly meet his gorgeous eyes. “I’m not,” I squeak. “I’m not scared at all.”
Great, now he’s amused. But he doesn’t move away from me, staying within kissing distance, maybe moving a fraction of an inch closer. “If you knew what I wanted to do to you, you would be,” he says.
Um. Yikes.
“What do you want to do to me?” I whisper.
Zane stuns me by hooking a finger under the front clasp of my bra and tugging me close enough for me to brush up against his hard chest. Then he leans down and whispers in my ear.
He says...
Oh, god.
I know what he’s talking about. I’ve heard girls in my school giggling about their boyfriends doing it to them. But I’ve never thought about having that done to me, never in a million years imagined someone like Zane whispering in my ear that he’d like to do that with me. To me.
Oh, god.
Zane takes a step back. His jaw is clenched, his whole body is tense and alert. He seems to absorb my wide-eyed shock and his voice is strained when he says, “Told you you should be scared of me. Just…I’m begging you, just go, okay?”
There is a tense silence that last for a few agonizing seconds. I want to touch him so badly, with a ferocity that scares the crap out of me. Hesitantly, I reach a hand up to his face.
Zane backs away from my touch with insulting speed. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, seeing the hurt on my face.
His rejection stings, leaving me confused and angry. So he thinks he can turn me on, then turn me away?
I use the ladder to get out—after having unsuccessfully tried to hoist myself over the edge of the pool. Thanks, gods of humiliation! Like I needed that parting shot! Zane doesn't say a word as I start to walk away.
But after a couple of shaky steps, I stop. If I leave it like this, he will continue to think of me as the scared little girl he always accuses me of being, and we'll go right back to pretending there isn't this...thing between us.
I take a deep breath and say a prayer for courage. Then with clumsy fingers, I slowly unclasp the hook of my bra. The straps slide off my shoulders and I let it fall to the ground with a soft plop. I don't quite have the nerve to turn all the way around so he can see me. I look at him over my shoulder.
Zane is standing very still in the hip length water, staring at me with an intensity that steals my breath away.
I swallow thickly. "Screw your control."
Then I walk away, forcing my hands to stay at my sides instead of covering my breasts.
Please, please don't let me trip and fall!
I make it to the pool house, and by then I am a quivering mass of nerves. I cross my arms over my chest and make a run for my room, my heart trying to thud its way out of my rib cage.
I cannot believe that just happened! In my underwear! What do I do now? Do I risk running into him to take a shower? I really don't think I have the energy to face him right now, but I'm covered in chlorine. It dries the skin, you know?!
God, that was so...
Hot.
I decide to take my chances and shower, but it's the fastest one of my life. I make it back to my room, where I dive into my bed and under the covers.
I am...exhilarated, confused, angry, turned on. Why does Zane always make me feel this way? Crazy and hormonal, that is. Sometimes I am so comfortable with him, I feel like I can tell him anything. But then there's always this insane rush of emotions brewing just below the surface, when I look at him, or when he smiles at me...
He wants me, too.
That pesky thought runs through my head like the sweetest song. It makes me giddy.
He wants me!
I lie awake for a long time, listening for the sounds of Zane coming in. If he did come in that night, I am asleep before it happens.
Chapter 13
Zane is pissing me off!
Okay, so it's been a couple of days since the pool incident, and out of nerves and embarrassment, I have been avoiding him—that is until I realize he's been avoiding me!
How dare he?!
He's been staying out late, sometimes not coming home at all. I rarely see him in the morning before school, and by the time I get home, he's gone again. The few times I manage to run into him, he is polite and distant. Our teasing arguments and easy banter are a thing of the past, and I find myself missing it—him—more than I could imagine. The tension is so thick between us, I become self-conscious of my every movement, and of his. It's like the two of us together create some kind of chemical reaction between us, both helpless to stop it, and desperate to ignore it. I'm so jumpy and awkward around him, I don't know how to cope, and I start picking fights in an attempt to illicit any kind of reaction. We argue over silly things, like who drank the last of the milk, or who left the lights on in the living room. I know—who fights over things like that, right? Old married couples, maybe.