Page 15 of After Our Kiss

“All you did was show me to the bathroom,” I whispered.

“Yeah. Now I'm ready to show you more.”

We moved at the same time. He jumped at me, and I darted for the exit. Jason's arm curled around my throat, tossing me to the floor. I hit hard enough that my skull was ringing—the vibrations numbing my ears.

“Learn to have some fun,” he said, sitting on me.

Rolling, I struggled to keep his hands off of my chest. “Stop it!” I screamed, “Help! Help me!”

No one could hear over the music outside. The party was roaring, rocking, and drowning out my plea. Shoving my knee up, I caught him in the groin. His eyes watered, but he didn't climb off, he simply slapped me. “Fucking hell!” he said, cupping his crotch. “You're psycho!”

He'd hit me hard enough that my gaze had shifted to the left wall. It was nice, not having to look at him.

Jason's weight vanished. I drew in air, desperate to breathe. I'd thought he'd stood up, but I turned and saw he'd been yanked off of me. A broad figure dressed in faded jeans and a glossy brown bomber jacket had Jason in a headlock. I couldn't see the new man's face.

“Let me down, asshole!” Jason shouted.

Mr. Stranger obliged. He threw my would-be rapist to the ground. Hard.

“Fuck,” Jason gasped, hunched on his hands and knees. He started to lift his head, but the other man jammed a knee into his temple; he collapsed, out cold.

Quickly I got to my feet. “Thank you. If you hadn't showed up, I think he would have—forget it. All that matters is that hedidn'tget that far. You saved me.”

It was semi-dark in the guesthouse, but that didn't prevent me from studying the man's face when he turned. Eyes like a furnace that had long gone cold. Severe cheekbones covered in rough stubble that stopped just before his angular chin. His lips were thinned out by how hard he was pressing his molars together.

Once upon a time, those same lips had been soft as butter.

My heart shuddered. “Conway?”

This reunion was one I'd dreamed about over the years. I'd wake up in a sweat; sometimes I'd be sweltering, wriggling in my sheets as I imagined my long ago hero as a full-grown man. My imagination hadn't been kind enough. Conway wasgorgeous.

But I already knew that. I'd seen him a couple hours ago on the news. Goosebumps went up my neck. “The police,” I said softly. “They're looking for you.”

In a split second he went from statue to cheetah. He was on top of me, muscular arms controlling my struggles, a wide hand capturing my mouth so I couldn't scream. Lightheaded from his speed—his close proximity—I didn't even fight. Nostalgia washed over me. I'd lived this exact moment when I was thirteen.

Back then it had been another man who'd pressed chloroform to my nose. Conway did it with similar precision. Forced to inhale, my eyelids fluttered, weighted down by the drug. I was a comet burning in the atmosphere; plummeting so hard I could pierce the earth's crust and land next to Hades.

The last thing I saw as I faded away were Conway's black pupils.

If Ididend up in hell, at least I'd find him there.

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