Page 75 of Villainous Summer

What did I want? I wanted her in bed at night, to talk to her every day. When she was gone, I missed her. I was willing to give her more than offered others. Couldn’t she see that?

“Listen, I don’t know what you think is going on here, but you don’t need to bring me flowers and sandwiches. I’m not sure why you’re trying so hard with me.” She eyed me skeptically. “Should I not be?”

“In my experience with men, they only act this way to get what they want.”

I tilted my head to the side. “And what is it you think I want? We already slept together. If I just wanted sex, I had that last night.”

She threw up her hands. “We can’t get emotions involved and only want—”

“Who said I don’t want emotions?”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she scoffed, pointing at me incredulously. “You! You told me, I don’t do girlfriends. I’m taking you at your word. If you want to have fun together, sure, we can do that. Just don’t make me think there’s more when you aren’t capable of that. Don’t bring me food and fucking roses and come to my work looking handsome and smelling good when you aren’t capable of more.”

Sitting back in my chair, I crossed my arms. “I said I don’t do girlfriends because, up until a month ago, I didn’t. I never said I wasn’t capable of them. It may have been a while since I was in a serious relationship, but that doesn’t mean the mechanics of it have changed.”

When she wiped a hand over her face, a tendril of hair fell from her twist, skimming her cheek.

My fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear. To pull her face to me. To kiss away whatever this frustration was in her.

“What am I supposed to do with that speech, Van?”

Sadness laced her voice.

“Whatever you want. I can’t force you into anything. We both know that. You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

She cupped her face in her hands, and I thought she was covering tears, but her eyes were clear. Conflicted, but clear. No, Summer wasn’t the sort of woman to cry over me—or any man.

“But you also deserve someone who will go to any length for you.”

“Is that an offer?” she asked with a snort.

“Maybe? Is it so hard to believe that I would?”

“Yeah, men like you don’t.”

“Why do you think you know what kind of man I am when you refuse to get to know me? Huh? You told me once, when someone shows you who they are, believe them. Is there anything I have ever done to show you I’m not completely serious about you?”

“Well, no, but—”

I raised a brow, silencing her. “We aren’t liars, are we? I told you yesterday on the boat. I won’t lie to you, and I expect the same from you. So, when I tell you that you make me feel things I know are dangerous, believe me.”

“Dangerous for who?” she murmured, her eyes flickering to mine.

“Anyone in my way, to get what I want.”

“And what do you want, Van?”

Her words were softer, lower.

She rested a hand on my chest as she leaned forward.

“I want to own you. I want to spend hours, days, weeks savoring the taste of you on my tongue and the heat of your skin as you move beneath me. But more than your body, I want all of you. To possess every little thought in your head, pull them apart, and break them down until there is no you or me, just us.”

“Van, I”—she hesitated, closing her eyes as if summoning courage—“I don’t need to tell you I have a hard time trusting people.”

I nodded, a tenuous hope growing.

If I were to have stopped her, she may not have had the courage to keep going.

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