Page 71 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

Arlo

Before she can properly register what’s happening, I hoist Ophelia over my shoulder, one arm braced around the back of her thighs.

She lets out a startled gasp, her fists landing against my back, frantic little hits that do more to irritate than injure.

They tickle, if anything.

“Put me down, you absolute brute!” she snaps, twisting in my hold like that’s ever worked for her.

I ignore her entirely, grabbing my luggage with my free hand and heading up the stairs.

At the top, I hesitate, glancing right and left until she mutters, resigned, “Left.”

I take her direction, nudging open the first door with my foot.

The moment I step inside, I know it’s hers. The air is laced with that unmistakable sweetness, strawberries, soft and warm, and it hits me straight in the gut.

I set my suitcase beside hers, then lower her carefully to the floor.

My hands linger a moment longer than they should, following the lines of her figure before I make myself let go.

She’s all smooth skin and lean curves, strong, feminine, and far too tempting for my own good.

I grit my teeth and take a step back, feigning indifference.

She exhales heavily, folding her arms across her chest, which only pushes her curves higher, drawing my eyes exactly where they shouldn’t go.

Bloody hell, she hasn’t the faintest idea what she does to me.

“You wanted to talk,” I say evenly, one brow raised, doing my best to look unaffected.

Her hair is plaited down her back, a single, neat braid that falls almost to her waist.

I have to fight the urge to reach for it, to wrap it once around my hand, draw her closer by that silken rope of hair, tilt her head back and taste the skin of her throat.

Her face is bare, with no trace of makeup, which somehow makes her beauty even more striking.

She’s dressed in something soft and impossibly inviting, shorts that show just enough of those long, toned legs to make me lose focus.

Everything about her looks warm, touchable,dangerous.

“Yeah,” she says, glaring up at me, her tone clipped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s a free country,” I reply with a shrug. “I can go wherever I damn well please.”

“I wasn’t talking about the country,” she fires back. “I meant this house.”

“Ah,” I murmur, stepping closer. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t move away. I reach up, brushing a loose strand of hair that’s fallen from her braid behind her ear. “Simple,” I say, my voice low. “You’re here.”

Her breath catches for a moment. “I thought you despised me,” she says quietly.

Something in my chest twists, and I hate it, every damn bit of it. I try to ignore the pull, so instead I force a cruel smirk, reminding both her and myself exactly where we stand. Because truth is, I’m the one who keeps fucking it up.

“That hasn’t changed Ophelia, and it never will, you’d better remember that. Just because I stuff you full of my cock, doesn’t make it love. I need to fuck, you spread your legs and make itconvenient. You’re just something to use when I need to forget what you ruined.”

Hurt flashes across her face, and that same pressure tightens in my chest again, sharper this time.

What the hell is that? I don’t like it.