But no longer. Anger is my motivation. I will find my footing here. They’ll learn not to mess with me. Not because of who I’m dating but because of who I am.
The thought of being even closer with Jarron is unnerving. I’m not sure how much I can trust myself with him. He’s beautiful. His voice gets under my skin in a way I simultaneously love and despise.
If only you knew how much power you have over me, you’d never feel weak again.
Problem is, he has power over me too.
“A kiss,” he says in a near whisper, as if he’s afraid that if he says it too loudly, it’ll shatter my resolve. Afraid that I’ll run from him, the way I did back then at the first glimpse of his true form.
“In public?” I ask, trying my darndest to keep my voice smooth and calm. I’m not sure if I succeed.
“In Elite Hall, at first.”
I’m dizzy at those words.
“At first?” I say, trying to keep my tone playful.
His lips twitch. “There’s an event coming up—two weeks from Saturday. A banquet we hold yearly as a sort of fundraiser. Some alumni will attend. Some potential new students. It’s stiff and lame and all about keeping up appearances.”
“And you want to—”
“I want,” he muses, “to dance with you, flaunt you. And, yes, kiss you.”
Holy crap monkeys.Why oh why did I put myself in this situation? Because the effect those words have on my body are all the proof I need that I am not equipped to keep Jarron from getting too close.
“And that’s enough to convince people?” I ask, no longer at all successful at keeping my voice under control. I’m breathless, and there’s no point in hiding it.
“It’s a start. The biggest sell, will be in the little things. The things we can’t plan. Small touches. Casual comfort together. Hanging out with the group together. Laughing.”
“Well, the hanging out and laughing, we should be able to handle, right?”
“Now that we’re a bit more comfortable, yes.”
“But what kind of touches are we talking about?” I hold my breath, knowing the question is setting me up, but I have to know what I’m in for.
“We can practice,” he suggests. He looks over his shoulder to ensure we’re still alone. We are. “You can veto anything you don’t like.”
I wet my dry lips.Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.“Good idea.”
His eyes darken, and my heart races. He leans in closer and reaches up toward my face. My chest rises and falls rapidly, but the rest of my body is utterly still.
Starting at my collar bone with feather light touches, he runs his fingers along the side of my neck, then he gently pulls my hair over my shoulder.
I release a shaking breath.
“Is that okay?” he whispers.
“Mmhmm,” I nearly squeak in response.
His fingers continue their journey, this time down the side of my arm, all the way to my wrist. I watch the slow movements, little swirls with his middle, forefinger, and thumb, dancing over the vulnerable skin of my inner wrist—the place he’d leave his mark if I let him. It sends shivers down my spine.
Then, he slowly hooks his finger into my palm. He examines the soft skin and smooth lines then curls his fingers between mine until they’re intertwined.
“Is that it?” I ask breathlessly.
He pauses. “Do you want it to be?”
My breath hitches, and that’s my only response. Because I don’t know the answer. Yes. No.
