Page 70 of Revenge Puck

We reach my room.

I nudge the door open with my shoulder and step inside.

It’s lighter than the rest of the penthouse, lit only by the city glow spilling in through the windows. The bed is massive and unmade, centered on the wall, white sheets rumpled from this morning. I walk us to the edge and lower her to the mattress. Itdips beneath her weight, and I brace one hand beside her head to keep from crushing her.

Juliette pulls away and grabs the hem of her sweatshirt.

My pulse spikes.

She lifts it over her head in one smooth motion, braid slipping forward over her shoulder as the fabric clears her arms. She tosses it somewhere behind her without looking.

The city light washes over her skin.

And for a second, I do nothing but look down at her.

Then I drop to my knees. Reach for the end of her braid—the rubber band—and tug gently to remove it. Once I have the hair tie out, I begin unbraiding her silky hair, strand by strand.

Her breath hitches as I work. I let my knuckles brush her collarbone. Her neck. The top of her shoulder as I separate the woven sections of hair.

“You like that?” I ask quietly.

She nods.

When the braid falls apart completely, her hair tumbles down around her shoulders in a soft cascade, framing her face, spilling over my hands.

I slide my fingers through it once, pushing it back gently from her cheek.

“You’re so pretty,” I murmur, taking her in. “This is what I wanted to see.”

She looks different with her hair down.

Less fragile. Less prissy.

Less perfect.

I comb my fingers through the silky strands again, watching the way her eyes drift closed at the sensation. She turns her head away as if embarrassed by the attention.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers shyly.

“How am I looking at you?”

“Like I’m alre…” She trails off.

“Already mine.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I instantly regret them. Not because I don’t love the idea of her falling head over heels for me. No, the problem is, I like it way more than I should.

I like her already, more than I should.

And…

I am a fucking scumbag, lying like this to her face.

Already mine?

Jesus Christ, Aaron, dial it down a notch. You don’t have to work this hard.

“Don’t go falling in love with me, Aaron Bishop.” She whispers out the warning in a teasing tone. “You know what they say—the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

A low laugh rumbles out of my chest as I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it up my torso. “Don’t you worry, Juliette Kennedy, I am in no danger of that.”