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“I’m not a damn mermaid,” I growl. Siren...do I like it? Well, it's not ‘baby’. God, I hate that term of endearment; it's so fake and unoriginal.
“A siren isn’t a mermaid. They are seductively beautiful like you and charming.”
I snort a laugh, “You find me charming?”
“In the best of ways,” he quips. “Sirens also like to trick men, and that shoe also fits.”
I bit my inner cheek so he couldn’t see me smile. I like the name. It’s fitting, but I’ll never tell him that. If you reward a dog, you’ll never get rid of him.
“I’ve never tricked you. I've been honest. I'm not sleeping with you.”
“You did trick me.” He replies.
“When?”
“When you came so hard on my fingers that I had to hold you up. I thought to myself, ‘Finally, she sees the light.’ Then you went back to running from me.” He looks down at his hand and smiles as if he can see my orgasm still staining them.
He’s got me good, and he knows it.
“Your problem is thinking you're the light or God’s gift to women,” I try to sneer, but my voice sounds weaker.
“I don’t think that. I do think that we’ve got this insane chemistry, and for some reason, you're fighting it. That’s okay. Eventually, you will cave. I’m a patient man, Harper.”
“Good,” I shrug, “be patient while I fuck other men because you and I are not happening.”
His body stiffens. “I never said I wasn’t possessive,” he replies with a bite. “I said I was patient.” He leans forward on the table, his shadow covering me like chains trying to tether me to him. “That’s okay, Siren; I’ll show you the difference when another man approaches you.”
My pulse is racing. Two men fighting is a wet dream I often have. I seriously think I was born in the wrong era. I'd love to watch Gladiators, but then I think about the lack of technology, and I digress.
Kent's statement is sexy and hot and bossy and everything I want but everything I will never let myself have for longer than a night.
I do casual one-night sex. One night. I don’t do this. Long-ended banter, flirting for weeks, growing feelings that one day could devastate me. I don’t want to do long-term. I’ve felt pain and loss; I’ve tasted the bitterness of death. I have experienced the loss of my first love. My first crush. My first kiss.
Yes, I have kept a dark secret from my best friend, and I'll bury it in my grave with me. Peter, Poppy’s brother who died, was my first love. It’s cliché: best friend falls for her friend's sibling. Yet I did it, and I suffered the consequences.
I never want to taste that pain again. Therefore, I will never give my heart away and allow myself to fall in love.
"Hey," Kent’s hand comes up and tips my chin up. I know what he sees, my darkness tearing up my eyes. My emotions slipped free. "Where did you go, Siren?"
Someplace too dark and deadly for you, Kent.
"I don’t do relationships," I sternly reply, and then I pull my face back from his touch. Cold air replaces the warmth of his fingers.
His index finger, which was under my chin, hangs in the air. "I don’t know who hurt you, but I’m not them," he promises.
It’s sweet. Touching, really. I wish I could give in fully to him.
"You’re right, you're not," I reply coldly. Peter didn't hurt me. I was cherished and chased, and that’s how Kent makes me feel.
That’s why I want to run.
I clear my throat. "I need to work, Kent."
"Fine," he dips his chin. I’ll make you a snack and get you something to drink," he offers in a much gentler tone.
"I’m not a pet. I can feed myself."
"So no leash and collar kinks. Good to know." He tries to joke.
