Blood of Zeus (Blood of Zeus #1) - Meredith Wild Page 0,14

I affect him the way I secretly hope I do?

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” he says quickly, the sound rough in his throat.

“For a scholar, you’re having a hard time saying what you mean.”

He folds his arms across his chest, like he’s protecting himself from my presence, even though he’s the one keeping me here.

I widen my eyes when I notice the subtle indents in the metal where his hands once were. I take a step closer, too curious not to investigate the marred desk. Except he quickly settles his hands back into the grooves that perfectly fit his tense grip.

I glance into his eyes, tortured and shadowed, full of answers he’s not giving me. The inexplicable anguish there draws me another step closer. I’m not sure what keeps pulling me forward until we’re nearly touching. Defiance? Pure recklessness? I reach out, holding my breath as my fingertips brush across the rough fabric of his vest.

His breathing changes, but he doesn’t push me away. His knuckles whiten as the metal in his grip bends audibly. It’s enough to distract me from our thought-shattering physical connection. It’s enough to make me wonder if maybe he feels it too. If maybe he’s as different as I am.

Chapter Six

Maximus

“Kara.”

I’m not sure if the word is even audible. It feels more like a pulse of my instinct. A ripple through my bloodstream. As if primal parts of myself have been waiting for her arrival…

Here. So close.

Then even closer, as she turns the press of her fingertips into the push of her whole hand. The heat radiating from her is nearly tangible, like flames spreading across my chest and directly into the organ that throbs there. It seems to stretch for more of her beautiful fire. Her fierce, forbidden heat…

“Kara.”

She’s heard me now. That’s clear in her pause, but she doesn’t withdraw. Suddenly I’m relating more to Dante than I ever imagined. Do I cross the river—willingly—into the flames, or stay on my shore? Do I steer safe from the sins I’ll confront on the other side?

“Maximus.”

Her response is also nothing more than a whisper. It’s wrapped in her unique scent, the cinnamon and spice making me lick the inside of my lips. Then the outside.

Holy shit. I’m in trouble.

“Please…don’t…” she utters softly.

A growl spills from me while I contort the top of my desk into modern art and tear divots into the floor with urgent plants of my feet.

“You’re kidding, right? Because if I try any harder not to touch you—”

“I meant…don’t push me away.”

Air rushes from my nostrils.

A gulp tremors down the column of her throat.

“Maximus…” she rasps, ending it with a lilt that almost seems a question. One born in desperation.

“What?” I murmur. “What is it?”

“Tell me I’m not the only one who’s feeling this. Please…tell me.”

I emulate her swallow as she splays her hand along the side of my throat.

“I knew it,” she whispers.

I’m stunned into another long silence. I validate the feeling by examining her face again. She’s really not afraid of me. Of the force I’ve exerted on the metal in my hands and the concrete beneath my feet. If anything, my loss of control has tripped some new switch for her senses. Her breaths are a frantic tattoo. Her stare rakes my face, her pupils nearly eclipsing their dark chocolate irises.

She inhales with purpose, as if we’re on a plummeting plane and I’ve handed her the last working oxygen mask. “But why do you keep trying to hide it from me?”

I’m falling. Losing altitude, swiftly and violently. Which way is up? And do I even care?

No. I have to care.

I manage to raise a hand. I form my fingers over hers and squeeze tight. “Because we can’t…”

“What? At least acknowledge it?” She pushes at my jaw with shocking strength.

At least I don’t have to hide that from her. At once, she answers my bafflement with a full, sweet smile. Like it’s perfectly normal for her to be handling my face like she’s a pixie-sized bulldozer.

I slam my eyes closed.

“Am I wrong?” she persists. “Open your eyes, look straight at me, and tell me I’m wrong about that, and I’ll walk away right now. I’ll never mention this again. I’ll just keep to myself at the back of the class for the whole semester. We can have a blast talking about hell for a couple of hours each week, and—”

She gasps as I tunnel a hand into her hair and pull at her scalp. Hard. And that’s