Page 137 of Dream House
His grin fades, and heat flares in his eyes. “You look amazing.” Then he gives a tight, almost angry shake of his head. “You always look amazing, but—tonight…” He licks his lips, and I feel the gesture in my panties. “I’m speechless.”
His words light me up, but it’s that look in his eyes, that hungry, helpless look that makes me feel like I’m glowing. I swear, little green men could see me from the moon.
I swallow. “You too.” It’s not enough, not nearly enough to capture how irresistible he looks tonight. “I mean it.”
Lark’s smile is rueful as he rolls his eyes. “At least she didn’t insist on the antlers.”
My laugh echoes across the yard.
“Maybe after a few more cups of mulled wine,” I tease.
He shakes his head. “We don’t have enough wine for that.”
Laughter gets away from me.
Again, his smile loses ground as he watches me.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My laughter corks itself. I shift in my seat.
We’re doing this now?
“You could have fooled me,” I level.
I guess we’re doing this now.
His brow furrows as he absorbs my response, but he never breaks eye contact. “Yeah,” he says, his voice going low. “I’ve been a dick.”
At his admission the stab of pain I’ve tried to deny at his distancing sears like someone has bathed it in turpentine. The wound has been there all along, but it’s not until he acknowledges his actions that I feel it so hard.
His eyes make a furtive dart toward Tyler and Nina before coming back to me. “Can we maybe go somewhere and talk?” he asks, pitching his voice even lower.
I glance at Tyler and Nina. They’re not paying attention to us. They’re in their own little world. But, clearly, Lark doesn’t want an audience.
Do I want to give him a chance to explain? I could say no. Saying no feels quantifiably safer. And as Pen’s little session emphasized, I’m good at playing it safe.
Still, is now the time to take a risk?
I must dither for too long. Lark launches out of his chair and thrusts a hand at me. “Come with me.”
ChapterTwenty-Two
LARK
I pullStella away from our roommates, intent on taking her to the back yard. But I only get as far as the side of the house.
My speed—the way I drag her over roots, under ligustrum branches, and through spider webs—must alarm her.
“Lark, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
I stop and look back at her. Light from street lamps filters through the privet branches onto Stella’s flower garland, her shining hair and glowing skin. She looks like she’s just stepped out of a fairytale. Or I’ve stepped into one.
I want her. More than I should. More than I can stand.
“No.” My voice is the rasp of a starved man.
She squeezes my fingers, her pretty frown marking her brow. “What is it?”
