He's trying not to love her.
One night changes everything.
“If you’re trying to hide, babe, then you’re failing. I can see you.” Aston’s words crawl over me in a smooth caress, making my throat dry up and my blood boil simultaneously.
“Why would I be hiding?” I sit up and look forward, determined not to meet his eyes.
He shrugs a shoulder carelessly, twirling a pen between his fingers. I catch his every movement from the corner of my eye. His eyes are burning into the side of my head - they’re begging me to turn, begging me to look.
“Because you want me so badly you can’t bear to see me,” he says in a dramatic tone with a touch of arrogance.
My back straightens. “Clearly someone has been feeding your ego again,” I reply dryly. “Because I don’t remember ever telling you I want you.”
His bicep brushes mine as he leans forward. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice low and barely perceptible.
I fight the urge to drop my eyes to the desk. “Damn right it is.”
A fingertip trails down the back of my arm, the tingling feeling making me fight against a shiver.
“I think you’re wrong,” he whispers. “Because I’m pretty sure you said you wanted me on Saturday night – right before you dug those nails of yours into my back and wrapped your pretty little legs around my waist.”
My head snaps round to him, and our faces are inches apart. His lips are curled in a slightly smug smile, and I hate the fact that’s where my eyes fell first. I drag them away from his mouth and across the sharp planes of his face until they meet his smoky eyes.
I remember why I didn’t want to look at him. His eyes have the power to entrance me and to break me. Right now it’s the former – the silvery hint at the edge of his iris pulling me in and holding me captive. I remember why, from the first touch of his lips against mine on Saturday night, nothing could have stopped us happening.