I almost fucking smile. It feels so good to get a rise out of her, to see the anger flicker in her eyes and tinge her cheeks pink. “I never said I did.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“I’d be happy to if you ever did anything but work and study.”
“It’s none of your business how I live my life.”
I step forward, stalking toward her, but with each step I take, she takes one in reverse. “I don’t care how you live your life. I only want you to live it, not hide from it.”
Her back hits the wall and she lifts her eyes to mine, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “I’m not hiding from anything.”
I take a final step, and her breasts brush my chest. Any closer, and her whole body would be pressed into mine. My mouth goes dry, and my nerve endings seem stretched to their limits as they ache for contact that isn’t quite there. “You are. You’re hiding from everything. From everyone. Brogan’s gone, and you want him back. I get that. But you’re here. Live your life, Mia.” My voice trembles slightly on the words. Does she notice? Does she care?
“What life?” she whispers.
I want to kiss her, suck her bottom lip into my mouth and bite down until she feels the pain and pleasure of being flesh and blood. I want to take her upstairs and strip her, put my mouth to her most sensitive bits of flesh until she screams with life. “You didn’t die that night.”
She swallows. “No. Death would have been easier.”
Mia
This time when the banging against my wall wakes me in the middle of the night, I know what it is.
I sit in the darkness for as long as I can stand it, but I can't just listen to his torment and do nothing, so I climb out of bed, grab the baby monitor, and pad softly into his room.
I don't know what I think I'm doing. Chances are, waking him up isn’t going to go any better than it did last time. I slowly shut his door behind me and set the monitor on his dresser before walking over to his bed.
The curtains are parted, and a sliver of moonlight cuts across his face. His brow is damp, glistening with sweat, and his jaw is tight.
“Mia,” he says. Or at least I think that’s what he said. His head thrashes side to side, and my stomach tightens.
I sit on the edge of the bed and skim my fingers over his forearm. “Arrow, wake up.” My words are too soft, I know, but I’m afraid I might startle him and make the nightmare worse. I speak a little louder this time. “I’m here. It’s okay.”
He moans softly, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders as his head stops thrashing and lolls to one side. With each inhale his breathing grows steadier, and his face relaxes until I feel like the nightmare has passed and I can leave.
Removing my hand from his forearm, I stand.
“Mia,” he murmurs. This time his eyes flutter softly. “Don’t leave.” He reaches out and his fingertips brush mine before dropping back to the bed.
I don't know if he’s awake at all or if he’ll remember this in the morning, but I can’t resist the pleas of a defenseless Arrow, so I lower back down to the edge of the bed.
“Thank you,” he says. When he wraps his arm around my waist and guides me into bed with him, I don’t resist. My heart practically trembles with every beat, and tears surge into my throat at the feel of his warm chest against my back and his arm around my waist. But when I give myself permission to let him hold me, to stay and close my eyes, I find sleep is closer than it’s been in months.
Arrow
What am I supposed to do?
Mia is in my bed and in my arms, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do about it.
Vague flashes from last night come back to me. The nightmare. Mia’s soft voice. I’d taken a damn sleeping pill and thought I’d dreamed her. Why else would she have come so willingly into my arms?
But here she is, and this is definitely not a dream. This is me with a fucking hard-on holding the girl I can never have.
I prop myself up on an elbow and look down at her. Her face is cast in shadows,