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Rowan lets loose the fullest laugh I’ve ever heard escape him. “If I’m ever lost in the woods and I see blood on the trees, I’m turning around. Clearly, toward the blood is not back to my campsite.”
I whimper. “This was a bad idea.”
“This was the best idea.” His thumb settles low on my back, circling each dimple through the tight fabric of my dress.
I chill. Thoroughly.
Humor lilts in his tone, positively heinous. “Are you falling apart for me, Briar?”
“Shut up. How much longer do I have to endure this torture?”
“It’s almost over. Everyone’s almost dead. All we’re waiting on now is the eerie sensation that we’re next.”
I swear, grip his shirt, and bury my nails through the fabric, into his scarred abdomen.
His fingers tuck beneath my skirt, against my thigh, and I straighten, loosening my grip in his flesh.
“That’s right. Behave,” he murmurs. “I can feel the prick of your nails in about seventeen different places, which, no, is not any kind of deterrent.”
I am going to kill him and string his entrails up in the trees around The Giungla. Then, I’ll keep a cute jar of his fingers in my room and then…and then… I bury my face against his neck, listening to the chorus of terror blaring in the darkness swallowing us up.
I missed him so much more than words can express.
Which makes everything else that has to happen today so much harder.
Peeling myself away from him by just a few inches, I find his eyes and discover they’re one hundred percent centered on me. He’s not even watching the movie. He’s just watching how I react to the horrid combination of it and him.
The sensation of him consumes me whole. His body, beneath me. His breath, on me. His fingertips, tracing the hem of my dress. His thumb, circling the dips at the base of my back.
He looks drugged.
A shriek interrupts my daze, and I jolt.
Lazily, his gaze glides from me to the screen, then back to me. “Credits.” His hand on my thigh skims up to my face, cups my cheek, and teases a lock of my hair around his finger. “You missed all the good parts.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more delighted.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” I hiss.
“Immensely.”
“Bad pet.”
“Good princess.” He kisses my forehead, and my stomach erupts—packed full of butterflies.
Huffing, I cross my arms and plop against his chest. “I’ll never sleep again.”
“Oh no.” He cuddles me. Horrid creature. “What a travesty.”
“I expected a nice date. Maybe the zoo.”
“Too hot. Are you aware you’re wearing all black?”
“Iced tea and perusing shops downtown.”
“Nothing more romantic than capitalism.”
“I agree.”
