“River…why?”
His lashes flutter against his cheek. “Anastasia, you shouldn’t—”
“It was you,” I say, feeling the certainty, and the ramifications. “You wrote that letter. Is that why you didn’t want to introduce me to Kian…because you’d already sort of fixed me up with Donovan?” I shake my head, trying to line everything up.
“Yes.”
“River! I walked out of the library and he was there, and that was supposed to be you, and it’s just wrong, wrong, wrong—”
He shuts his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“This whole time… Donovan and I started out with a lie. That you built. It’s not right!” It feels like a betrayal, another one from Donovan, and a new one from River.
“Don’t say that.” Frustration colors his words as he pulls me fully into his arms, his grasp strong, the heat of his body engulfing mine.
“I wasted a year on him and it wasn’t even real—”
“You fell in love with him, Anastasia. It wasn’t just the note,” he counters.
“Was it just a game to you?” I look up at him.
“No. Never. I-I just somehow knew what to say to you…” He swallows and glances away from me, then drops his arms and takes a step back.
My chest rises. He wrote my note. He’s the one I should have been with.
“You told me at the sunrise to live each moment. Well, here and now, I’m living it. We’ve been dancing around each other for days. I want you.”
“We can’t.”
I shake my head. “We can. Since the moment we met, the world has been put on pause, waiting for us to figure it out, maybe, I don’t know, at least that’s how it feels for me. In the library when we met, that night in your bedroom at the Kappa house, in the kitchen in May—you wanted me. You’ve built a fortress around yourself, trying to keep me out, am I right?”
“Anastasia, we can’t talk about—”
“Stop,” I tell him. “We want each other—”
He sucks in a breath. “Don’t say it. Don’t.”
Oh, I’m going to say it.
I’m done with him pushing me away.
And this thing feels like it’s going to unravel at any moment if I don’t hang on tight. I take the one step that puts me back in his arms and press my cheek to his chest.
His arms go around me. “We can’t do this,” he says, a catch in his voice. “He’s my friend.”
My voice is muffled, and I can’t look at him when I say the vulnerable words. “Listen to me. We’re here. We’re under the stars. You can’t lie to the stars. We have a connection and you know it. Life doesn’t give out a lot of moments like this. Just kiss me, just kiss me or walk away.”
Long moments pass, and I look up at him.
“Anastasia…” A wild light grows in his eyes.
My hands clench the material of his shirt. “Do you think I’ve ever begged a man to kiss me? I haven’t! River, just—”
His lips swoop down and claim me.
He slants his mouth across mine, and the first taste of him is like a drug. Blood rushes through my veins.
We kiss.
And kiss.
He groans as he nips at my bottom lip, tugging on it, then delving back inside my mouth. My hands slide up his chest, mapping him, tracing the muscles there before caressing his shoulders, circling around his neck. My fingers carve through his hair as our tongues tangle.
His hand drops to my waist, to the bare skin of my midriff, then slides to my ass, his fingers pressing into my skin like a hot brand. Heat sinks into my bones, lust and need rising like a wave. His tongue lashes at me as he picks me up and puts me against one of the partitions. I sit on the ledge as my legs wrap around his waist.
He moves up and cups my face, his hands pushing my head back as he owns my mouth. His kisses are different from Donovan’s, vicious, steeped in urgency, a hot flame that incinerates.
He’s desperate.
A man on the verge.
We go rocket fast, kissing, tasting, eating at each other, our breaths heavy and fast, our hands roaming over skin, to take it all in.
It’s not pretty.
It’s dirty and ugly and so fucking good.
A primal sound comes from his throat as he comes up for air. “Tell me to stop, Anastasia, please,” he says breathlessly as his teeth graze my throat. He sucks at the skin, hard.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp.
“I can’t…” He kisses me again, savagely, frustration and anger in his touch, a