Page 50 of After All This Time

But I don't back away. Instead, I twist off the water cap and take a long drink. Finally, she shifts, sliding herself up onto the kitchen island.

Suddenly, my eyes fall to her neckline and the curve of her collarbone. My throat goes dry, and the urge to close the space between us, to taste her, to feel her under my hands, is clawing at me, pushing back against what little control I've got left.

"What's up your ass?"

"Nothing." Another lie.

She catches it right away, eyes narrowing as she looks me over. "Since when are you a liar, Tobias? That's one thing you've never been."

"You don't want the truth, Mills, trust me." Her eyes narrow, and she slides off the island and steps closer to me.

"What's wrong?"

I can see it written all over her face—she cares, she really does. But it's driving me crazy how she can stand there, completely unaffected, when I'm one breath away from saying fuck it all and dragging her lips to mine.

Her hand reaches out, brushing my arm, and it's torture. Pure, unrelenting torture not to lean into her touch.

"You can talk to me," she says, her voice so soft it almost makes me wish I could laugh it off as a drunken impulse.

But there's nothing funny about how much I want her. I take a step back, forcing some distance between us before I do something I can't take back.

"It's nothing that won't be okay again in the morning."

"Is this because of the girl at the bar? Are you pissed because you're here with me?"

"This has nothing to do with Dani, and no, Amelia, I could never— I'm not…" I trail off, rubbing a hand over my face, feeling the weight of everything I can't say, pressing down hard. I look up at the ceiling, counting the spotlights as if they'll ground me—anything to calm the mess of thoughts that are pulling me under. "I think you should go to bed, Mills."

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, her eyebrows raised, and the look she's giving me nearly undoes me. "Go to bed? What am I, six?"

"Please," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just take your ass to your room, lock the door, and stay there before I fuck everything up."

"What?"

"Just go, Amelia!" The words explode from me, more frustration than anger. I'm not yelling at her—I'm yelling at this impossible situation and the fire in my veins that won't burn out.

She steps back, shock written across her face. My reaction was too much, an overreaction by anyone's standards, especially when she doesn't even know what the hell is going on inside my head.

"Fuck you, Tobias," she mutters, brushing past me.

Before she can fully pull away, my hand snaps out as instinct takes over. My fingers wrap around her wrist, firm but not rough, and the feel of her skin against mine is like fuel on a fire that's already out of control. She freezes, her gaze dropping to my hand and the ink winding around her wrist before she looks up, meeting my eyes.

"Hey," I say, my voice softer now, desperate to undo the damage. "I'm sorry, and tomorrow, I'll apologize again. But please, Mills…" My words fade as my eyes drop to her lips, noticing the way they part slightly.

She isn't dumb; she knows why I'm asking her to go, but she's not calling it out—she's letting it pass, and for that, I'm grateful. I grip her wrist a fraction tighter, grounding myself against the pull that's driving me mad.

"I shouldn't have yelled like that, but I need you to go to bed."

For a moment, it feels like we're balanced on a knife's edge, the world holding its breath, waiting to see which one of us will tip first. One word from her, one look—that's all it'll take for me to throw every ounce of restraint out the window and ruin this thing between us without a second thought.

But instead, her gaze drops to my hand, and I know it's my cue. I loosen my grip, letting her wrist slip from my hold.

She walks away without looking back, and I watch her every step until her door closes with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in the silence.

I let out a long, shaky breath, leaning forward onto the island, my palms pressing into the cool surface like it could somehow calm the fire still raging inside me.

Tonight, my right hand is all I've got.

But I know damn well that with every stroke, it'll be her face, her voice, and her fucking name that I can't get out of my head.

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