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I throw the brochure down and he looks at it with narrowed eyes. I fold my arms across my chest. “If you must,” I acquiesce, feigning boredom.
He steps inside and the room instantly becomes smaller. Darker. He’s filled it with his size, scent, and pheromones, and now when I take a breath I’m breathing him in. He places down the box and pulls a tube from his pocket. It must be some sort of joiner’s grease because he squeezes the gel onto his fingers and then he starts rubbing it in circles around the screws.
The brochure slips off my lap and onto the floor, causing Tate to glance at me over his shoulder. He takes in my dazed expression and heavy breathing, and a glint flashes in his eyes. He turns back to the door and drops down, picking up his tool as he begins unscrewing the bolts. The muscles in his shoulders are hard under my gaze.
“So,” he begins, voice husky. “Did you enjoy the race?”
I think about the fact that I have the fastest motorbike racer in this town wearing out the knees in his jeans as he screws a lock into my bedroom door, and my stomach slowly pools with heat.
I lean down under the pretence of picking up the college booklet, but really I’m watching his hands force the metal out of my door. “I didn’t not enjoy the race,” I admit.
He’s silent for a moment as he tries to work that one out.
When the handle is released he holds a new one in place and he pushes in the tip of the first screw. Then he asks in a low tone, “What was your favourite part?”
I’m looking at his tousled brown hair, scruffy from where he’s ran his fingers through it, and the smooth skin of his thick tan neck. I picture him towering over Caulder… overpowering him…inmy honour.
“There was this really thought-provoking bit near the end,” I say.
Tate fits the last screw on the setting for the inside handle and then he stands up and walks to the end of the bed that I’m resting on. He throws down his manual drill and I can see the outline of his crucifix pendant protruding through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. His eyes are on me, submerged in his sheets, as he takes the rag from his back pocket and wipes the oil from his fingers.
“Oh yeah?” he asks.
I nod slowly.
“And what kind of thoughts did it provoke exactly?” He’s looking down at me with dark unyielding eyes, and his bass tenor reverberates through me.
His eyes flicker down to my hand resting against the quilt and he surreptitiously leans forward and takes my wrist.
My skin is suddenly on fire. His body is ten times warmer than mine and he’s thawing me out, inch by inch. His fingers press firmly between the delicate ligaments and I suck in a breath as I realise what he’s doing. My pulse point throbs under his touch and his eyes burst into flames.
He releases my wrist and picks up the drill, looking down at me on the bed. “Those kinds of thoughts, huh?” he taunts. His denim-clad thighs are pressed against the mattress.
“Are you finished?” I ask bluntly.
His fingers clutch at his belt buckle and he tugs it to the side, as if in discomfort. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks. I ignore the feel of his eyes roaming up and down my body.
“Leave please so I can lock you out.”
He breathes out a laugh and paces back to the doorway. “Whatever you want,” he mutters, eyes flashing dangerously close to the little camouflaged bookcase.
“Such a gentleman,” I grumble dryly and I sink back against the comforter. I look at my college brochures and I want to hurl them out of the window.
He shakes his head and walks out of the room. “Only with you.”
Chapter 12
Three Years Ago
Kit isn’t at school today, so when I enter the cafeteria I check the bench along the left wall for any solo seats. There’s one on the edge, away from the bustle of the kitchen and the till, so I slink into it and set all of my stuff down.
It was kind of humid this morning so a lot of people are in especially sunshiney moods. Most students buy their food at the cafeteria and today’s selection does look pretty good. Slushies and fruit salads and some ridiculously cute cupcakes. I always felt odd being one of the only lunchbox kids, but Kit doesn’t mind and that makes me feel less weird.
I drop my satchel next to my feet and pop my food container onto the table.
“Hey beautiful,” a warm voice murmurs gently from behind me.
I startle and my heart starts pounding excitedly but I keep my body still.He’s doing this at school?I look over to Tate’s usual table on the other side of the room and his friends are laughing and shaking their heads at him.
