Page 87 of Tears of Ink

I scrunch my face with repulsion, anger coursing through me. My hands smack against his chest, pushing him backwards. “You don’t get to judge me, Elijah.”

“You’re kind of giving me good reasons to do just that.”

“Don’t you dare judge me, you bloody bastard. We can’t all be emotionally cut off like you.”

He laughs, and it downright infuriates me. My face floods with heat. “Emotionally cut off? Are you referring to our telephone conversation? Because I was surrounded by my partners after coming out of a crucial five-hour meeting where we bartered concessions with the opposition.”

He has me there. I didn’t think for one moment maybe he wasn’t in a position to speak. I just assumed he was giving me the brush off; that his hot and cold routine was winning out on the side of freezing cold.

“Well, what about the other night? You were all over me like a fucking rash, and then last night it was like we were fifteen and scared to go under the covers.”

He grins, and my fist tightens ready to punch his smug face. “You want me,” he taunts. One hand snakes out and grabs the waistband of my jeans, tugging me closer, hooking on the belt loop. “Sunshine, I’m just waiting for you to give me the go ahead. You know my stipulation.”

His lips skim my throat, scorching a pathway of fire as he reaches my ear and gives a gentle nip with his teeth. “Just waiting for your say.”

My skin heats and cools all at the same time. My legs tremble as I try to get a grip on the situation, try to gain some control back. I can’t, it’s all gone, lost in his touch.

This is Elijah at his most perplexing: hot, determined, and driven. It speaks to a deep, dark part of myself that I’ve never given the chance to come to light.

He pulls me closer between his legs, clamping his thighs around my hips, tugging me forward until I’m losing balance and falling into his chest and lap. Through the dark material of his jeans his erection rubs against my pelvis, and it does nothing to fight through the static buzzing in my head.

Give in, Faith.

I shake my head and he chuckles. “Do you need a conversation with yourself? Should I step away and give you some space?”

My eyes screw shut so I can’t see his smile, the dancing light in his eyes, his lips I want to kiss so badly.

“I don’t let people in.” I open my eyes and stare at him openly. My palms stretch across his T-shirt, hard and soft all at the same time.

“And I don’t get to be with anyone I want. Maybe somehow this is perfect right now, just for us.”

That’s it. It’s all he has to say. My defences crumble.

“Nothing more than what’s in the moment. You can’t fix me, Elijah.”

“And you can’t be my girlfriend.”

“I won’t want to be.” I’m convinced of this. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend. I’m not made of the right stuff.

His lips meet my mouth; brushing, caressing, drifting in a heavenly touch. “Tell me you’re a rule breaker,” he whispers, “please.”

I still can’t say it. Still can’t let go, even though the words are screaming inside my head. “Why are you here? You said you weren’t coming back for days.”

The blues rest on my face in the dark; reading, absorbing. I want to hide from them, but then I also want to stand proud—this is me in my most fucked-up way and he’s still not running away from me screaming.

“I wanted to say hi.”

“You drove all the way from London to say hi?”

I kiss him. Stretching onto my tiptoes, I slide my hands around his neck, fixing my mouth to his. Hot and eager, he binds me into his arms. “I’m a rule breaker,” I whisper the words into his mouth. In my stomach butterflies take to flight, and across my skin every story I’ve ever inked is slowly washed away in need and hope.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - F I V E

We walk largely in silence to the pink walled outhouse. Anticipation dries my tongue. My fingers are warm in his grasp as our hands swing between us.

Every so often he casts a searching gaze in my direction and grins.

“What?” I ask eventually.