Page 96 of Crossed

“He won’t let me go,” I defend.

Cade’s eyes darken and he takes another step.

And another. I put my hand out to stop him when he moves in again, and my palm hits his torso, halting him. I swallow thickly, my chest pulling tight. “Youknowhe won’t let me go.”

I feel his breath on my hair, and I look up, seeing the muscle in his sharp jaw tick. “You don’t belong to him, mon trésor.”

Our eyes lock, and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

“Then who do I belong to?”

A sharp whistle cuts into the moment and we jump apart.

“Tea?” Cade rasps, running a hand through his hair and turning to take the kettle off the stove.

“Sure, yeah.” I twist my fingers together again to stop the tremble.

He pulls down the mugs and prepares the tea, and I step farther into the kitchen, sitting down in one of the chairs.

When he comes to join me at the table, I ask, “Do you think someone saw us come in here?”

He tilts his head. “Does it matter?”

I grab the mug, the heat singeing my skin. I use the slight discomfort to ground me in the moment instead of letting my mind wander away the way it really wants to.

“You tell me.” I lift a shoulder. “You’re the one with the reputation on the line.”

He sits down, bringing the cup to his mouth and blowing on the hot liquid before taking a sip. I watch the way his lips mold around the cup and then the way his throat works with his swallow, heat spreading down my spine and pooling between my legs.

“We aren’t doing anything I wouldn’t do with anyone else in the parish,” he comments.

That hurts in a way I didn’t expect.

“Oh, okay.” I nod, bringing the tea to my lips so I don’t say something I’ll regret. I watch him from over the lip of the cup, that deep-seated curiosity rising up again. “What do you do at night?”

He quirks a brow, taking another sip. “I think you know.”

My cheeks flush and my clit throbs, and I’m so. Fucking. Ridiculous. I slam down my mug, hot tea sloshing over the sides.

“Are we ever going to talk about things?”

“I’d rather not.”

Nodding slowly, I tap my fingers on the table, trying to rein in the sudden rush of anger. “Fine. Well, I meantafterthat thing we’re definitely not talking about. Actually, after that last specific time we’re not talking about…where were you?”

“Here, obviously.” He tilts his head. “Where else would I be?”

I shrug, trying to read between the lines of a man who’s impossible to read. “I don’t know what you do with your time. Out of the two of us,I’mnot the one with a habit of stalking.”

He blinks, and then a slow grin spreads across his face, and he stands up, chuckling and shaking his head. LikeI’mthe unbelievable one.

I pick up my mug again and huff, but before I can take another drink, he’s right here in front of me, his fingers brushing mine as he pulls the cup from my hand.

My stomach flips.

“Come on,” he says, placing it back down. “We need to head back.”

We don’t, actually. But I understand his need the same way he must understand mine. It doesn’t need to be spoken. He’s trying to be good, to not let us stay alone for too long, because we both know what could happen if we do.