Page 183 of Hide and Keep

“So I have a reason to have my hands on you, too.”

I cover up a sob by shaking my head and spinning in the opposite direction. “That’s, um…” I clear my throat. “That’s really pathetic.”

“I know,” Crue says much closer than he was a second ago, his breath teasing the side of my neck.

“I just came in here as a favor. I don’t—”

I feel him run his fingers through my wet hair and moan. How could something feel so good after going through something so bad?

Against my ear, he says, “I’ve been stuck in this room all night, going fucking crazy imagining all the things someone else could be doing to you. I had to do a dummy’s hair over and over andoveragain…” His fingers mold to my skull and pull my head back, triggering another moan, this one deeper. “…just to keep myself from climbing out the window and going after you.” He takes a deep breath, nuzzling the skin below my ear, then finishes on a whisper, “It was torture, not seeing you. Be a good girl for me and let me do your hair so I can make sure you’re here, you’re real, you’re okay. Please.”

My knees quake, my legs like jelly.

Lips to the ceiling, I rasp, “Pathetic.”

“Unquestionably.” His mouth closes around that same skin, sucking gently while his tongue swirls. But then he closes the space between our bodies, bringing his erection against my back and I arch away from it, from him, bile rushing up my throat.

Crue spins me around.

“What’s the matter?” Under drawn-tight eyebrows, his eyes search mine.

“Nothing.” I focus on his neckline, wishing I could slip inside his shirt and curl up against his chest, letting Crue’s heartbeats drown out every other noise in the world. “You said you wanted to do my hair, so…do it.”

He rolls his eyes but chuckles. “I was getting there. I just got distracted. You have a very distracting neck.”

“That’s what all the boys tell me.”

Crue’s humor disappears.

“Don’t be shy, miss. Drop those names.”

“Maybe later.” And by later, I mean never. Some of those names I’ll be taking to my grave without ever uttering them aloud. Everyone jokes about beer goggles but hard alcohol goggles are where the truly bad decisions lie. “And don’t call me miss. I hate it.”

“Don’t talk about other guys. I hate it.”

We hold each other’s gaze.

His jealousy is so funny because as hard as he tries, it’ll never reach the same level as mine. I would never ask for his exes’ names. I’d simply go online and stalk every person in his life until I found them myself.

My bodyguard nods at the bed. “Sit.”

“Do you have a hair tie?”

He brandishes his wrist, a black band around it. “Chloe left some with the head.”

Now my eyes are rolling. I just leave out the laugh as I say, “Of course she did.”

“Finally.Finally. My feisty little bat is back. All it took was mentioning your female hairstylist.”

He said it wrong again.

“You know you’re saying bat, right?”

“Yeah.” He smiles unabashedly, but reading my confusion, he explains, “You’re nocturnal, territorial, creepy, and—”

“I’m not creepy.”

“Have you seen your room?”

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