“And just where do you think you’re going?” a cool voice whispered through the silver fog.
I wrenched to a stop, peering behind me.
No one.
“I thought you’d realised running wasn’t a viable option, Ms. Weaver.”
His icy voice sent a strange mixture of hot and cold desire down my spine. Jethro morphed into being, seeming to solidify from the mist like a terrible poltergeist. He leaned against one of the pillars holding up the portico, crossing his arms.
My heart collapsed, unable to untangle the maze of hypocrisy between us. My skin begged for his touch. My lips tingled for his. Every inch of me craved what he could deliver.
Heat. Passion. An eruption that I felt in every cell.
But none of that was real.
And I refused to believe in trickery any longer.
Mirroring his body language, I crossed my arms. “I realise escaping isn’t a viable option. But I’m not escaping. I’m running. Running is my only option to escape the mess you’ve made.”
His jaw clenched. “The mess I’ve made?”
“Yes.” I took a step backward as he advanced. “You’re messing me up, and I’m done playing whatever it is that you’re doing.” I sucked in courage and embraced honesty. It seemed to work around him, and I needed him to see how serious I was. How hurt I was with his deception.
He’s Kite.
Bastard.
Baring my teeth, I said, “It seems I have a weakness for you, but I changed my mind. I don’t—”
A low growl escaped him. “A weakness? You call what happened between us a fucking weakness?”
My breathing ratcheted as if I’d already run two miles. “The worst kind of weakness.”
He smiled, but no mirth entered his gaze. If anything, his golden eyes were luminous with anger. “You’re the one who started it…Nila.”
I gasped at the delicious decadence of my name on his lips. The sound echoed in his mouth, shooting straight to my core.
Shit.
Jethro advanced again, his body trembling with barely veiled lust. “You’re the one who created this problem.” His hand came up, fingers slinking through my tied-up hair, tightening around the back of my skull. “I can’t hear the name Weaver without getting fucking hard. I can’t even think of you without boiling with need.”
His nose brushed against mine, his lips so damn close to stealing all my scrambled plans and sending me headfirst into a life of debauchery.
“You should never have said those two words, Ms. Weaver. I told you. We’re both fucked now.”
My mind was blank, every synapse focusing on his fingers in my hair and his mouth only millimetres from mine. “What two words?”
He chuckled. The sound was self-deprecating and almost morbid with dark intensity. “Kiss me.”
I shivered in his hold. “You’re reminding me of what started this mess, or you’re asking me to kiss you?”
Ask me. And I will. God, how I will.
I’d kiss him until I’d stripped him of his arctic armor and destroyed it, I’d lick him until I tasted his truth, and I’d bite him until I’d eaten every morsel of his soul.
I’d do all that so he had nowhere left to hide.
We stood wrapped in foggy silence. The drawn out anticipation of a kiss turned my legs to jelly. If he pressed his mouth to mine, I wouldn’t be going for my run. I would climb his body and sink onto his cock.