Page 15

15

ALLISON

I ’ve spent the entire trip poking the bear.

Today, he lost control.

The bear nearly ripped some guy apart in front of me.

Even worse, I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling.

Hot.

Turned on.

My panties are soaked.

My heart is pounding, my pulse hammering against my throat.

What’s wrong with me?

Why am I so aroused that Connor nearly ripped a stranger apart for touching me?

I need psychological help.

* * *

I sit in the passenger seat of the wood-paneled station wagon, staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge what happened at the inn.

I’m certainly not letting myself think about how hot it was when Connor lit into that guy.

Lies.

All lies.

I glance over at him.

He looks relaxed and completely unfazed.

One hand casually grips the steering wheel while the other arm rests against the door, his muscles flexing slightly.

He glances at me, a smirk curling his lip.

I whip my head away, my hands digging into the frayed edges of my shorts.

He saw too much.

Knows I’m rattled.

Knows I can’t stop thinking about it.

And the longer he lets the silence stretch between us, the worse it gets.

* * *

The tension is like a live wire, snapping between us, burning my skin.

I crack beneath the pressure of it.

Inhaling sharply, I cross my arms and break the silence.

"Why did you do that?"

Connor doesn’t even blink. "Do what?"

I scowl, irritation blooming through me. "You know what.”

He smirks, and I want to slap his handsome-as-sin face, then kiss him like my life depends on it.

"Say it, sweetheart," he taunts.

I grip my seatbelt like it personally wronged me.

I don’t say anything for a few beats.

Then I snap.

"You lost your goddamn mind back there," I hiss. "Why?"

His fingers drum against the steering wheel.

He turns his head, looking at me matter-of-factly.

"Because," he says casually, “you’re mine. "

Panic sets in so hard and fast, it temporarily blinds me. “E-Excuse me?”

His attention stays on the road, calmly driving like he didn’t just shatter my entire existence.

Silent as if what he said is fact, and there’s no need for discussion.

"I’m not?—"

Connor chuckles, a low, possessive sound that makes goosebumps race down my spine.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, "do you really think anyone gets to put their hands on you and walk away?"

I’m officially spiraling into the abyss.

"That’s not how the world works!"

He glances over at me, his gray eyes darkened with amusement.

The fucking knowing look in them makes me want to attack him — slap his broad chest with my hands, then slam my mouth against his.

He arches a brow. "Isn’t it?"

I open and close my mouth, but nothing comes out.

I don’t know how to argue with… this.

With someone who says things that piss me off but makes me want to cling to him and never let go.

Damn him to hell.

I curl my fingers in my lap, digging half-moons into my thighs.

He’s still calmly driving, even after tossing out “you’re mine” casually and confidently, like it’s a well-known fact.

Like the asshole believes it down to his goddamn bones.

Even worse?

I don’t hate it.

Although I should.

* * *

An awkward silence descends over the car as Connor drives Wanda while I sit there, barely breathing.

His words wrecked me.

Yet he’s calm, flipping through radio stations like he didn’t just detonate my entire world.

A wide smile lights up his face when the opening notes of “Blame It” by Jamie Foxx fill the car.

He cranks it and starts singing along, pointing at me as he does.

I clench my hands into fists.

He grins, absolutely loving this.

Reaching over, he brushes a strand of hair from my face.

I jump like he just electrocuted me.

His lips curve.

“Relax, babe,” he murmurs. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I—Get used to what?” I croak, staring at him incredulously.

He shrugs.

“Being mine.”

His voice drops so low it feels like a hand wrapping around my throat.

An enraged squeak comes out before I toss my water at him.