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“Everyone likes me, Rowan. That’s the whole point. I make everyone like me. Just like a narcissist.” Even to my own ears, the words sound brutal, but something needs to get through to him. Something needs to slow this down. There’s no happily ever after for us. I’ve been manipulating him since before we met, and I highly doubt anyone’s capable of leveling the playing field. Even if it’s enchanting to pretend such a thing is possible, I live in this game. Soon, he’ll tire of playing a few rounds and want the certainty that comes from someone else.
“Last I checked,” he says, “didn’t narcissists gloat when their victims fawned over them?”
I swat his hand away from my face. “You assume that narcissistic tendencies make sense? Narcissists crave a rush. If you’re calm, if you’re happy, you’re just not adoring me enough. I need you miserable and groveling for my attention. And, even then, it will never be enough for me. Because you will never be enough for me. Because narcissists are never actually even enough for themselves.”
He catches my hand, twists it down until a spike a pleasure-pain streaks up my arm. “Is that why you look so captivated right now?”
“I do not,” I whisper.
“You, honestly, like me. Like this.”
“I like you as a person. That doesn’t mean my mentions of marriage—or even dating—were anything more than meaningless little games and useful moves to get us where we need to be. It’s a façade, Rowan. And, clearly, it worked. My contacts may never have found the Maxim Project’s trail if they weren’t feeling threatened that we’re moving on. They still need our attention for some reason, so they dropped us a line. They—”
“Sound like the real narcissists.” Without warning, he bites my shoulder.
An unseemly sound works its way through my body and up my throat, where I choke it down with the rest of the bursting emotions I am ill-equipped to handle.
He licks as I hiss a weak curse.
How could things have gotten so unchecked? My means of throwing the poor, inexperienced guy out of sync with his corrupted opinion of reality and self has backfired so bad.
“You’re supposed to be emotionally unavailable.” I let my eyes close. “Don’t you remember? You’re not supposed to actually be capable of liking me.” He’s supposed to use me, all of this, as a stepping stone toward healing, then—someday—he’s suppose to meet a nice woman who makes spreadsheets for fun, not manipulation. They’re supposed to get married after spending months outlining the exact step-by-step events that make up their next five years. Together, they live out their color-coded days while I return to my shadows.
Things were never supposed to end up like…this.
He lifts his head, dark hair falling against his forehead, dark eyes intent on me. “Emotionally, I’m very available.”
“You just learned to smile, like, yesterday.”
His gaze drifts, petulant. “It takes more muscles to frown. Can you blame me if I’m an exercise enthusiast? It comes with the territory.”
My eyes roll. “The point is, we all have our flaws. You’re emotionally unavailable; I’m allergic to commitment.”
Without looking back at me, he arches a skeptical brow. “You have commitment preferences, too?”
How dare he. My lips pinch. “I’d actually call these issues.”
He smiles, seductive. “Nice to know you aren’t always delusional.”
“That’s cheap gaslighting.”
Touching a kiss to my forehead, he murmurs, “No, it’s not.”
“I expect better from you than basic contradictions.” Everything inside my chest feels starved for air. Probably because this big man is still pressing against my every inch. “Rowan. I’m serious right now. I don’t want you to get hurt. I need to know you aren’t misunderstanding. I don’t feel anything for you at an emotional depth worth mentioning.”
He nods, patiently, and drags my bent wrist to his mouth. “Right. Of course. There’s nothing emotional between us. You just like me as a person and enjoy the fun of fooling around.”
“Yes, exactly. Liking someone as a person isn’t a big deal. I like loads of people. It’s the mark of an extrovert.”
His gaze slashes toward me. “I’m not misunderstanding. Let’s just assume I don’t care how you feel. I like you. And I don’t remember asking for your opinion on that, princess.” His smile stretches—simply…dreadful—against my pulse as it jumps to meet his lips. “Where in the world did you think being in a toxic relationship meant you had a say?”
Wing beats spin in my stomach as my skin flames. I…think I just lost my ovaries. Because they just exploded. I’m speechless. My mind has turned to putty. Where in the world did he find the right?
Gripping my other hand, he pins both in his fist above my head. “I am going to figure you out, unravel you, and make you mine. While you’re thinking ten moves ahead and calculating your every motion, I’ll be right in front of you—watching. We’re the same sort of creature inside, Briar. On the surface, you have no reserve, no inhibitions, but inside? Inside you’re just as careful. Inside, you think you’re a monster, too. And it eats you up, doesn’t it?”
“N—”
He squeezes my wrists. “Doesn’t it?”
