Page 80 of They Are Mine

His name feels dangerous in my mouth.

Like something that shouldn’t be spoken unless it’s in a whisper against his throat.

“I’m Juliet.”

His expression doesn’t change much, still calm, still steady, but his eyes linger.

He’s looking at me. Really looking.

And God, I want to put my hands on his waist, slide my fingers under his shirt, feel the ridges of his stomach, the flex of muscle, the hardness beneath the soft cotton of his uniform.

“Are you here every weeknight?” I ask, even though I already know.

“I am,” he says, voice deep, smooth, too fucking perfect.

“Oh, good.” I sigh, tilting my head, leaning just a little closer. Close enough that I can almost feel the heat of his skin.

He doesn’t lean back.

My stomach tightens.

“That was horrifying,” I add, pressing my palm flat against my chest, like I’m still recovering.

He doesn’t look convinced.

“There are just so many weirdos these days,” I murmur, shaking my head.

I don’t get in the car.

I don’t want to.

I want to drag this out, want to watch him, want to make him keep looking at me.

“You look familiar,” I say instead, tilting my chin, staring straight into his eyes.

So deep. So dark.

So focused on me.

He hesitates. Just for a second. “Saw you at the gym,” he says.

Oh.

Oh, fuck me.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

I cock my head, feigning surprise, biting back the satisfaction curling through me like a slow, thick heat.

“Oh, the yoga place?” I say, widening my eyes slightly, pretending to just be making the connection.

His lips twitch. Just barely.

But it’s there.

One corner of his mouth, lifting just enough to make me want to sink my teeth into it.

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