“Please talk to me.”
“I don’t have to explain things you shouldn’t even know.”
He steadies himself for a moment before staggering toward the bathroom. I grab his arm to help, but the gesture throws him off balance instead. He crashes into the doorframe of the bathroom with a wince.
“I’m so sorry!” I rush out. “I just…”
He doesn’t look at me as he pulls himself up, jaw clenched. “You should know something. What you did just now? Stealing from my head? That’s not so different from what Ben did to you.”
My stomach drops, and I go cold. Dozens of angry retorts collect in my head. Dozens of defenses. But none seem to fit the longer I wait. The longer I consider the patient, wounded way he stares back at me. All I can muster is a stammered apology that he accepts with a weak nod before closing the bathroom door. After a few moments of silence, the thunder of water pounds the other side of the wall.
I let the sound wash over me, trying to imagine how I’d feel if Ben grabbed my hand to steal memories and refused to let go while I fought against him. Somehow it doesn’t seem the same as what he’d actually done, but the thought is more disturbing than I like.
Daniel’s silent suffering makes no sense to me, but his struggle to hide the truth should be enough of a signal. Instead, I refuse to take his lead, negating his massive effort with one touch. Then another. I steal visions I don’t understand and demand explanations I have no right to hear. Explanations that only lead to more traumatic questions. No, someone stealing from my head is not the same because I don’t have real secrets to take. He’s right. What I’d done was a violation.
Still, no amount of regret for my act can erase the reality of what I saw. I shudder at the memory, wondering how I canpossibly honor my newfound remorse after this. I was right to suspect his lie in that dark room, but I don’t blame him for hiding the truth. Had I known what he obviously knew, I never would’ve left him. I would’ve dug in like a fool and taken my chances fighting off the unknown enemy. Daniel must’ve sensed it and refused to give me the option.
The crashing water quiets to a trickle, and a nervous flutter launches in my stomach. Will he be pleased or annoyed to find me lingering here? I don’t know, but I also can’t risk another indefinite separation without clearing the air. The door creaks open, and he glances at me briefly before entering the room. My mouth goes dry.
The towel hangs low on his hips, exposing a body sculpted even more perfectly than I’d expected. Does he spend every spare minute in the fitness room? Beads of water drip from his hair and follow the paths of defined muscle carved over his skin. The few simple tattoos on his back and chest suit him nicely, especially when he leans back in cocky amusement. It’s like he’s holding that towel in exactly the right position to send inexperienced girls like me reeling. My gaze devours him, soaking in every detail until…
I catch my breath at the ugly bruises.
He lifts a brow. “Are you going to watch me get dressed too?” His tone is lighter than before, and I burn hot. I should have left while I could. My brain doesn’t stand a chance against this. Not with the fire raging through places it shouldn’t be.
“No?” My response squeaks out as a question, and his rare grin melts me into a useless puddle. A You’re So Screwed anthem blazes through my body with reckless abandon.
He clears his throat, and heat floods my face as I turn toward the other wall. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
I hear movement as he sifts through the piles on the floor. “I don’t know why I bother putting the stuff back after they search my room. I might as well just leave this shit here.”
“This happens a lot?”
“At least weekly.”
“Did you ever get your necklace back?” My thoughts are nowhere near stolen artifacts, but I need anything to keep them away from the disaster they want. Want. Want. Want. So desperately want.
“Not yet. They’re holding it hostage. That’s why I went to group this morning and tried to attend morning activities. Not that either worked out well.”
“So you probably haven’t heard about afternoon group yet.”
“Heard what? You can turn around now.”
I do, and nearly trip at the sight. Faded jeans, still unbuttoned, have replaced the towel as he pores through his belongings, presumably in search of a shirt. Yep, the V is still on display. The tempting angles. The glistening tattoos wet with...
My heart hammers when he looks over and catches me gawking. A smirk slips onto his lips as he straightens to give me another full view. Jerk.
“That better?” he asks.
I roll my eyes, even crossing my arms for effect. “Are you saying you wouldn’t stare at me if I were standing half-naked a few feet away?”
His perfectly toned shoulder lifts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m willing to test it.”
I raise my chin in challenge and grip the edge of my shirt.
“I was kidding,” he laughs, grabbing my wrist to stop me.
The vision this time is neutral, breakfast at a restaurant. Dry, mundane—perfect for ignoring. He doesn’t let go, and I accept it as a license to explore. My fingers trace one of the oddly precise marks on his ribs, skimming gently at first. He flincheswhen I get too close, but allows my touch. Leans into it, even, his muscles tensing in silent betrayal of how much he wants my hands on him. As much as my need to touch? My eyes lift to his, begging the question my lips refuse to ask. The blistering heat is painful now, pulsing in dizzying waves through my belly and beyond. It wants more than a kiss. No restraints this time. No forbidden room or pressure of clocks. It craves reciprocal hunger.
