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Wanted(49)

By:J. Kenner


“You think I see you as fragile? You think I don’t want you? Do you have any idea how hard it was to sit in that room just now and not touch you? It was hard enough before the other night, but Jesus, to come as close as we did, and then back it off? It’s like trying to turn the goddamn Titanic, and I feel like I’ve crashed into a fucking iceberg.”

I gaped at him, my heard pounding, my skin prickling. He was saying things I thought I wanted to hear, but I was afraid to hope, and so I only stood there, silently begging him to continue.

“Do you want to hear me say that I look at you and I go weak? That I want to taste you and touch you? That I want to break you and see you shatter beneath me? Dammit, Angie, is that what you want to hear?”

Yes, dear God, yes.

I was screaming the words inside my head, but outside I was too shocked, too amazed, too damn aroused to say anything at all. It didn’t matter. As always, Evan understood me.

His face softened, the vibrancy fading to a passionate glow. “I’m telling you now, because we both need to hear it. I want you, Angelina. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you. Wanted your fire, and that haunted look in your eyes. Wanted you to look at me the way that you do. For years, I’ve wanted to lose myself in you. Wanted to break you open and see the woman inside.”

“You could,” I whispered, though I’m not sure how I managed to find my voice. “I think you’re the only one who could shatter me.”

“Maybe.” He reached out as if to touch me, but his hand only stroked the air above my skin, as if he was warming himself in my heat, or as if he was afraid that if he lowered his hand those few millimeters to actually make contact, that we would both burst into flames right then.

He may not have touched me, but he might as well have, and when he pulled his hand away, I heard myself whimper.

Slowly, he thrust his hands into his pockets. “I can live with the things I’ve done,” he said. “After all, I can’t be anyone other than the man I am—the man walking the path I made. But we all have a code, baby. And how can I break my own code and still live with myself?”

I realized I was shaking my head in protest. “Fuck your code,” I said, but I spoke gently, my tone in sharp contrast to my words. And then, emboldened, I leaned forward and brushed my lips over his mouth.

I heard his moan. I felt his hands close over my shoulders. I felt the hard knot of passion growing in my belly, the sweet tingling sensation growing between my thighs.

And then, more keenly, I felt him gently push me away.

“Don’t do this,” he said. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Maybe I want to tempt you.”

“I’m not the man you want.”

“You are,” I said earnestly.

“Maybe. But I’m not the man you need.”

I flinched, because he was so very wrong. He just might be the only man I need.

“How do you know what I need?” I demanded. “Because you made a promise to a dead man?”

I saw him wince, and I pounced, sensing weakness. “Do you think I don’t understand why you’re turning away from me? I loved him, too, but he’s not here. And even if he were, he’s not in charge of us.”

I waited for Evan to say something. To pull me in his arms. To tell me I was an idiot. To just plain turn and walk away from me.

But he said nothing. He did nothing.

And my temper flared.

“You know what? Fuck you, Evan Black.”

I reached over and pushed the button to call the elevator. This time, he didn’t stop me.

“Fuck you,” I repeated.

I stood, vibrating with anger as I waited. Finally, the doors opened, and I started to step onto the car. I stopped when his fingers closed around my upper arm.

I didn’t turn.

“It’s for the best,” he said, his voice so low I could barely hear him. “Your uncle was right. I’m not a safe bet.”

I waited one beat, then another. Then I shook my arm free, stepped onto the elevator, and didn’t look back.





eleven

I needed to get lost. Needed to get free. My head was swimming with everything that was going on around me—Jahn, my parents, Kevin. And Evan. At the center of it all, there was always Evan. His proximity. His desire. His heat.

His rejection.

I felt as if my mind—hell, as if my life—was trying to tune in to a particular frequency and all it could find was static. As if I was bouncing around lost in the stratosphere with no rope, no guide, to bring me back down to where I belonged.

I was anxious and frantic and needy and confused. I needed release even as much as I needed an anchor. I needed to appease the demons. I needed—