Page 97 of After All This Time

What the hell made her think I'd ever be okay with that?

I can't share her. I won't share her.

But how is that ever going to end well between us? How can you claim someone you're not supposed to want in the first place? Someone you're not supposed to touch? The answers don't matter anymore because wanting Amelia isn't a choice.

We make it home in one piece, but my heart's pounding so hard it feels like it's trying to break out of my chest. I step inside first, leaving Amelia to linger behind with her mom and my dad, but the space between us is a live wire, crackling in the silence; however, everyone else seems blind to it.

"Right, you two, go get some sleep. You've got a long day tomorrow," Kayla says as she glances between us, her smile genuine for once, but she's completely clueless.

If she could see the way I've been looking at her daughter—the things I've been thinking about doing to her precious little girl—she'd have my balls mounted on the mantel before breakfast.

"As have we," she continues, facing my dad. "We have lunch with the Sheridans."

"Great. Can't wait to hear all about Clifford's digestion issues again," my dad mutters, his sarcasm as dry as the champagne he's been sipping all night, and I've never been more grateful that his life isn't mine."Goodnight, you two," my dad tosses out, already halfway up the stairs.

"We're heading downstairs to the game room," I cut in smoothly, glancing at Amelia for confirmation. "You coming?" I smirk, daring her to push back, to walk away, even though I already know she won't.

She rolls those chocolate-brown eyes in that exaggerated way that would piss me off if it weren't so fucking sexy and spins on her heel, leading the way downstairs, as far from our parents' room as we can possibly get.

"You know we actually need to get some sleep before tomorrow." She steps into the room first, and when I step in behind her, I quietly close the door. The lock clicks into place with a finality that makes us both freeze for a beat.

I'm keeping people out—and her in. At least until she tells me otherwise.

"If you'd rather go to bed, tell me now, Mills."

If you don't want my hands mapping every inch of your body… if you don't want me to taste the sounds you make when you come apart, walk away now.

She walks to the corner of the room like she's got all the time in the world before wrapping those delicate fingers around a pool cue. When she turns, her face is unreadable, but her eyes burn me alive.

The pool table stretches out before us, its midnight-blue felt perfectly matching the deep shade of the walls. I grab my cue, nodding toward the table with a slight tilt of my head.

"You wanna break?" I ask, though I already know her answer.

We've played many times before, although it's never felt like this.

"You ask every time and always get the same answer," she says, her voice carrying that edge I love.

"Why do you always want me to shoot my shot first?"

"Because I like knowing what I'm playing with rather than just hitting and hoping for the best."

The double meaning in her words hits me low in the gut. She's talking about us—about what's building between us, and fuck if that doesn't do things to me.

"Sometimes it can be fun not knowing which direction the balls will go. Adds a little excitement."

Her eyes darken, and she takes a step closer. "Tonight, I want to know exactly what I'm getting myself into."

She's wary, and I get it. This situation is heavy and complicated, no matter how you look at it.

"How about we ask each other a question for every ball we get in?"

This stopped being about playing pool the second she walked down those stairs. It's about stripping away our defenses, one truth at a time.

"Are you going to be honest?"

"Have I ever been anything else?" I let her see everything in my eyes. There's no point hiding it now.

The truth might burn us both, but I'm ready to light the match.

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