Page 29 of Unchained

Her jaw twitches, and she takes another drag, averting her gaze. “Nothing interesting,” she dismisses me.

I get the impression her walls are as high as, if not higher than, my own.

I nod. “Alright.”

Her gaze drifts to my jaw, and my hand instinctively lands there.

“You’ve got some lipstick. Usually it goes on your lips, not the jawline. You know, in case that is your thing,” she tells me, eyebrow arched.

I wipe it away, the light red smudges on my fingers. “Noted. I’ll do better next time.”

She tosses her cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with her boot, violently. “I’m heading home. I’ll be back. I’ve got some calls to make.”

I take a step closer, and her breath hitches.

“No. You aren’t leaving,” I tell her.

She tips her chin, and I dip my head, my eyes drawn to those deep red lips.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Colten.”

My eyes form slits. “No. I doubt I do. But no one else does either, Gianna,” I say, letting the words settle.

Her deep brown eyes go wide.

I lean in, so I’m right by her ear that’s covered in silver rings and diamonds. “That dress is spectacular on you. If you go and change it, I’ll rip it off you in front of everyone.”

She leans back, assessing me with a deviant sparkle in her eyes. “If you do that, then I’ll slit your throat in front of everyone.”

A grin twitches at my lips. “Now that sounds like a party, Gianna.”

With that, I pull back and clear my throat. And for a second, we stand in silence.

“I’m being serious about the dress,” I say, breaking the silence.

She swallows, but her expression doesn’t change. Her cheeks don’t flush. I get nothing back. “And I’m being serious about murdering you if you threaten me again.”

This should not turn me on.

Shouldn't, but does.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll take note of that.”

“I thought I told you once already; I don’t do cute nicknames. And I certainly am not a sweetheart.”

I chuckle, shoving a hand in my pocket. “Alright, viper.”

“I’ll accept that one, polpetto.”

I wink. I already searched that term; she’s calling me a meatball, which technically is a term of endearment. Very loose on the technicalities.

“I’ll see you in there,” I tell her, backing away towards the door.

The strangest part is, she’s ready to slit my throat for telling her not to get changed, yet backed away from her father.

Now that looks like a group therapy session is needed.

But something in my gut is telling me it’s deeper. And I gotta keep scratching at the surface to figure this girl out.