Page 82 of Vital Signs

"No," Misha said. "You're right. That's exactly what it is."

I passed the joint back to him, and our eyes met.

"I still want it," I said. "Every minute of every day. It's all I think about."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Misha looked down at his hands. "I think about Roche. About what he did. About how the drugs made everything float away." His voice dropped lower. "Sometimes I miss that floating. The disconnect. The... absence."

My chest tightened. "Yeah."

The joint burned down between us, passing back and forth in silence. Misha's knee rested against mine, the contact sending warmth up my leg. I didn't move away.

He passed the joint back one last time. I couldn't look away from the curve of his throat as he tilted his head back, exposing the elegant line of his neck.

"You're staring," he murmured, eyes meeting mine through the haze of weed smoke.

"Hard not to."

Then his hand settled on my thigh, and all that anger transformed into something else entirely.

Or maybe it didn't transform. Maybe it just coexisted. Fury and desire, resentment and need. I was still mad at him. Stillhadn't forgiven the DNR violation. Still wasn't sure I could trust him not to override my choices again.

But I also wanted him with an intensity that made my hands shake.

"We don't have to talk about it," he said.

"This doesn't fix anything."

"I know."

"I didn't ask for forgiveness, mon loup." His breath ghosted across my lips.

"Then what do you want?" My fingers tightened in his hair, holding him in place as we hovered on the edge of something inevitable.

Misha smirked and said something low in French. I didn't need a translation. His eyes said enough. He wanted a fight, or a fuck. Maybe both.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a fucking brat?" I growled against his ear, yanking his head back to expose his throat. My lips brushed the sensitive skin below his jaw as I spoke.

His eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. "Moi? Never," he lied.

The last thread of restraint snapped. I yanked him forward, crashing my lips against his. His fingers twisted in my hair, yanking sharply while I forced him back against the wall of the van. Our mouths clashed, neither yielding as teeth scraped lips and tongues battled.

He fought back, biting my lower lip hard. I retaliated by pinning both his wrists above his head with one hand, my other hand claiming his jaw, forcing him to meet my gaze.

"Think you're in charge here?" I growled against his mouth, squeezing his jaw just hard enough to watch his pupils dilate.

He answered by rolling his hips against mine, the friction making me groan despite myself. "Of course I am."

I released his jaw only to slide my hand down to his throat, thumb pressing gently against his pulse.

His eyes widened, and his whole body went rigid. "Not there," he whispered in a voice that sounded so small and wrong, I yanked my hand away.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "Don't stop," he said, voice steadier. "Just... not there. Not today. Bad memories."