to—
My mind flooded with fragments of that written fantasy—my naked legs spread on that gorgeous bed, Sam’s blond head between them, my fingers messing the perfectly tidy strands of his hair.
“Why do you always do this?” he asked, mouth dangerously close to mine. “Since the first day we met, no other woman has ever been so irritating.”
Poke poke poke.
We had a ticking clock on an important case, and yet I still needed to do it.
“If I’m so irritating,” I said, “why does it look like you want to kiss me?”
17
Sam
“I don’t want to kiss you,” I said. “I want you to acknowledge that I’m right and come with me.”
Freya sized up her opponent. “You’re lying through your teeth, Agent Byrne.”
She wasn’t wrong.
It was taking every remaining shred of my willpower not to claim her lips with my own. They were so full, the bottom lip so plump, and the red of her lipstick was luring me in like a siren song. I could read the twists and turns of her mind. I knew she was remembering how we used to spar. Our sweat-slicked bodies pressed tight, muscles alive, chests heaving as we panted.
I used to pick a stupid fight with her right before a training session just to work us both up. There was no better release than going toe-to-toe with your equal—the woman who pushed you more than any other.
Gripping the wall with my fingers, my gaze dropped all the way down her body. I drank her in like I’d never allowed myself to do before. This, too, had been a compulsion I crushed like every other emotional weakness. I’d had to remind myself, always, what not to do.
Don’t look at Freya’s body.
Don’t stare at her hair.
Don’t notice the sound of her laughter.
The more we fought at school, the hotter my nightly fantasies became. Even I couldn’t control my secret desires when I fucked my own fist—those fraught, vulnerable moments when I was merely a man, lusting after a woman who had not a goddamn clue how she affected me. We’d fight, and I’d win. We’d fight, and she’d win. And every time I’d end up back at my dorm room, door locked, picturing a naked Freya sprawled on my bed, begging to come.
And in those fantasies, I made my beautiful rival come. I made her come over and over, in as many ways as my feverish brain knew how.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked, all temptress now.
Don’t enjoy Freya flirting with you.
“If I did want to kiss you,” I said, “would it even change anything?”
“Oh. I see this game,” she breathed. “Trying to dismantle my defenses with reverse psychology so that we do things your way.”
“It’s no game.”
Was it? Or wasn’t it?
Freya pushed onto her tiptoes and hovered her red lips over mine. Our breath danced, mingled. It was a warning shot—she was ripping my fake white flag to shreds.
“Kissing me would change everything,” she whispered.
“And why is that?”
Her soft mouth just brushed mine, demolishing my best barricades. “Because if you kissed me, really kissed me, you wouldn’t be able to stop.”
Just the hint of her mouth so close to mine had my nails digging into the wall by her head. The rote sex I’d been half-heartedly enjoying with previous women was exposed for the cold, brutal lie it’d always been. Freya’s kiss was my true craving.
“You want full honesty from your partner?” I said.
“Please.” It was almost a goddamn plea.
“Yes,” I growled against her mouth. “Kissing you is all I want. And yes, I wouldn’t stop there.”
We’d finally touched the forbidden third rail of our relationship.
I’d never told Freya why Brittany had broken up with me. All you do is talk about Freya and think about Freya and ask me questions about Freya, Brittany had said. You say you hate her, but I think that’s a big old lie.
I despised that memory. It was confusing. Because Brittany’s accusations had been correct. Every action in my life had a Freya-inspired reaction. We were moths drunk on the same flame.
Freya’s hands spanned my ribcage, fingers slipping beneath my shirt to press against my bare abdomen. I hit the wall with my fist, needing to release the sheer ecstasy of skin on skin. Her fingers were trembling, Freya was trembling. And her expression was shifting from haughty tease to vulnerable beauty.
I needed the haughty tease—the haughty tease I could handle. Her aching vulnerability would make me fall for her.
“I want you to kiss me,” she said quietly.
She was giving me