Page 21 of Burn for Me

There’s no way I can ask him what’s on his mind, though; he’d expect me to do the same. I tilt my head into each open door, desperately trying to find my assigned room. Why can’t he be normal and say, ‘This is for show; I honestly can't stand you’?

Tide’s shoulder bumps into mine with an aggravated growl, and I return the noise, but it cuts off into a squeak as my back slams against the cool metal siding.

“Looks like you haven't been training enough on the 'always be aware of your surroundings' aspect.”

The faint bit of light that once illuminated my surroundings dims as I'm trapped between two large, ink-covered arms braced beside my head. Looking at Sam's features, I'm terrified. He's everywhere, constantly threatening the atmosphere with his presence, yet I can't pull away—I can't push him away.I’m officially convinced that I died at some point, but I wasn’t greeted with the pearly gates everyone talks about. Instead, I was sent to spend eternity running from the person I want to run to.

“I’ll remember that next time,” I say while pushing against his chest, which only earns a growl that vibrates through my hands. He’s like a concrete wall, refusing to budge an inch.

“What if there isn’t a next time? One slip-up can cost you your life.” Sam's low rumble of words goes unfocused as Sharkie passes by, acting as if the floor is the most exciting thing to lookat. The door shuts behind her, and I roll my eyes.Thanks for the help, jerk.

“That sounds amazing. I can return to the warm comfort of the fiery pits of hell.”

“Do you have a throne down there? Do all your demons worship you at your feet?” His purr is both sexy and exasperating, making me shove him harder.

“Move, Sam.”

“That’s not going to work. Haven’t you learned that I love a good fight?” He chuckles without humor, pressing his body closer to mine until I can feel every rigid muscle I know lies beneath.

“No, I didn't. Then again, I don't know much about you now, do I?”

“The feeling is mutual. I told you something about me, so now it’s your turn.” He changes the subject, acting as if I can’t see past his manipulation to get the information I hold.

“I’m just due for a back rub. Do you want to come to my room and help me out?”

“You know that's not what I meant.” His voice drops, clearly irritated, and he sighs. “And I’m not doing that.”

“You didn't specify,” I say innocently, then kick his shin, causing him to stumble back a few steps. Spotting my nameplate neatly hanging from a door, I take the opportunity to throw my shoulder into his chest as I walk past.

I wish he would just give up. I’m not the type of princess that needs saving; I’m the type that lures knights in shining armor into the dragon's mouth.

“Jasmine.” There’s a deep rasp in his voice when he says my name–the one he uses when I’m pushing him too far–but it’s all I know how to do. Rolling my eyes, I reach for the door handle, but my wrist is suddenly caught.

Panic. That’s all I can feel from his touch.

I’m in trouble. It’s not the kind that has me running laps or prevents me from watching the sunset. It's the type of trouble that brings back overwhelming memories of moments when slim, bony fingers would jerk me into the nearest room when my father wasn’t looking.

I turn with the motion, and my open palm connects with his cheek. I’m already prepared to apologize, but my mouth clamps shut when his eyes meet mine.

"I'm not coming to your room with you because it's not safe, so stop acting like a spoiled child," he hisses. I expect him to jerk me close, but instead, his touch is gentle–coaxing and guiding my steps lightly until my shoes touch his. I'm too distracted by the red splotching on his jaw to react, but when his words sink in, my sympathy turns to irritation.Does he think my frustration is about him?I've been satisfying myself for years because no man can get close without him threatening their life.

Furrowing my brows, I scoff. If only he could understand that I’ve never been mad at him—it’s been me all along. It’s the daunting thought that I might have a chance if my closet wasn’t filled with the skeletons of my past. I feel the pressure of hiding every part of myself when I only want him to explore those pieces like he does everything else. The weight of it tightens my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“No fair, Daddy. I wanted a shiny new toy.” I pout despite my creeping anxiety, and he sucks in a sharp breath. If I don't show my weaknesses, then I’ll be okay. I can hide everything and finish this assignment without issue. Maybe when it’s done, he’ll give up on my past, and I can show him that this isn’t who I am.

His hand darts up, grasping my jaw so I can’t pull away.

“You're so goddamn infuriating, you know that?” He mutters through clenched teeth, flicking his gaze to my mouth, “I like being prepared. I love knowing what's coming, but you’re bloodyfuckin’ with that. So save a few lives and tell me what I need to know.”

“There's nothing you need to know,” I challenge incoherently through gritted teeth. My nerve endings are firing, screaming for me to run away, but I refuse to move.

“This isn't some game; this is my sanity you're messing with.” I know he's probably saying something important, but I can’t focus on the words because his face is too close to mine. The woody scent clinging to his clothes tickles my nose—it’s calming, even when it feels threatening. Leaning forward, I try to hold onto the feeling he’s giving me, but he presses his fingers into my cheeks, making me acutely aware of the grooves of my teeth against the soft flesh as a warning.

Sometimes, I wish he’d snap and let go of the feelings he’s harboring toward me so I could finally know where I stand with him.He says this isn’t a game, and yet…

“If it's not a game, then stop treating my mind like some pawn on your board!” I snap.

A thump sounds somewhere down the hall, but neither of us turns our attention to it.

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