Page 21 of They Are Mine

I exhale slowly, pressing my nails into my palm.

Remind myself what this is.

Noah is too sweet.

Too polite.

He wouldn’t want to push too fast. Wouldn’t want to ruin whatever delicate, pretty thing he thinks this is.

How noble of him.

How utterly frustrating.

Because this isn’t delicate.

This isn’t fragile.

This is inevitable.

My fingers curl slightly, a sharp little pulse of need tightening low in my stomach.

If he isn’t going to take advantage of the night, I will.

I stand, smoothing my skirt.

Noah’s eyes flicker to me immediately. Attentive. Curious.

I feel his gaze drag over me. Not in a crude way, not in a way that’s immediately obvious. But it’s there.

The briefest flicker of awareness.

Of want.

See?

I knew it.

I knew he wanted me.

He just doesn’t know what to do with it yet.

I smile. Soft. Sweet. Deceptive.

“Let me get you a refill,” I murmur, lifting his cup from the table.

His lips curve, easy and unguarded. Completely unsuspecting. “Thanks, Juliet.”

Oh, Noah.

You’re making this too easy.

Alone in the kitchen, I pour the soda first.

The liquid fizzes, rising in delicate, crackling bubbles before settling into an obedient stillness.

I take a breath. Slow. Even. Steady.

Then, with practiced hands, I reach for the spice cabinet. Where I keep the cinnamon and vanilla, the nutmeg and sugar, the little glass vials of extracts and oils.

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