Page 73 of Bend

“That’s bullshit.”

I stare at him.

He stares right back.

No smile now. No easy little joke to soften it. Just that calm, maddening certainty that makes me want to shake him and kiss him and tell him to piss off, probably all at once.

“You feel it,” he says. “And you know I do too.”

I scoff, because that’s safer than saying anything real. “You always this sure of yourself?”

“Only when I’m right.”

I roll my eyes. “Bloody hell, you’re annoying.”

“Stop fucking fighting it then. You can’t avoid this thing between us forever”

I fold my arms. “You don’t know what I feel.”

His expression shifts, softening just enough to make it worse. “Then tell me I’m wrong.”

I don’t.

Can’t, and the silence after that says too much all on its own.

His voice drops lower. “You know, it’s okay to want me.”

Something hot flashes through me at that.

Defensive and embarrassed.

Wanting, which is the worst bit.

“You make it sound so fucking simple,” I mutter.

“Shouldn’t it be?” he says, still too close, still not backing off. “Why does feeling something for me have to be so complicated? What are you so afraid of?”

I hate how that goes straight through me.

Because he sees it. He sees too fucking much.

“I’m not scared,” I lie.

Wolfe gives me a look that would almost be funny if I weren’t currently one heartbeat away from doing something stupid. “You’re terrified.”

“Shut up.”

I shove at his chest. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to get him back, but he catches my wrist before I can pull away.

The air in the bay goes thick and strange, like the whole place has stopped breathing with us.

Neither of us moves.

His hand is still round my wrist, warm and steady, and that’s almost worse than if he’d grabbed harder. It’s not forced though. It’s certainty. Like he knows I could pull away if I really wanted to.

Problem is, I’m not pulling away.

His eyes stay on mine, dark and dead serious, and whatever smart little comment I had lined up dies somewhere behind my teeth.