Page 57 of Broken

Her chest rises and falls. “What is this?”

“We’re just talking.”

“No, you’re goading me. It’s like you’re deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable. Well,” she takes a deep inhale. “I don’t regret what we did. It was something I needed, and you were there.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

There is no hiding the flash of pain in her eyes. And something else I don’t like. Pity?

“You don’t like me,” she brushes off whatever that was. “And I’m not entirely sure how I feel about you,” she goes on. “So yeah, I’ve never not liked the person I’m having sex with before.”

“Makes for a hell of a better experience though, you can’t argue with that.”

Her brow furrows, and she switches the cider to her other hand, wiping her damp palm against her skirt. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Most women would have walked away by now. I’m acting like an asshole but she’s standing her ground. All I want to do is pin her against the railing and show her how this spat of ours is turning me the fuck on.

Not with our friends behind us, or the other people still wandering the festival. I have some self-control.

“So, tell me about the drawings,” I say diverting the subject. Talking about us having sex is doing neither of us any favors.

“Will you tell me about yours if I do?”

Chapter Fourteen

Calli

I’ve never seen someone’s face shutter so completely and so quickly. My defensiveness took over. Telling him about my drawings means telling him about the shit show in San Antonio.

It would be a lie to say I’m not curious. How can I be so hypocritical?

Garrett has made it clear his sketch book is private.Morethan made it clear. Telling me who she is may be painful. It has to be that. My mind is running rampant. It’s not my place to ask.

“Have a good night.”

What? That’s it? He’s walking away? A moment of madness takes over and I grab his wrist, halting him in his tracks.

Garrett stares at my fingers. His skin is hot, and the fine hair tickles my fingers, but I don’t let go. The dark, intricate designs of his ink work keep me from looking up. He clenches his fist, and the tendons work under his skin, beneath my fingers.

When I raise my eyes, his are practically boring into me. I don’t know what it is about this man. He’s been awful to me. He’s said things in front of people that embarrassed me. Knocked me off my bike, treated me like crap when I helped him.

And worst of all, saw me touching myself. And knows it was over him.

How did I ever let this man touch me?

All of it fades into one solid truth. I want to know about him. It could be because he’s the first man I’ve been with since my husband. The first man since my life blew up. Maybe it’s this base, animal attraction and I want to fuck him again. Letting him walk away now takes away any chance of that.

This isn’t me. I don’t use sex as a weapon, or a way to control someone. If he isn’t willing to talk to me, that tells me exactly where he stands.

Suddenly he takes a step closer, putting himself right in my space. He lifts his arm, with my hand still clamped around his wrist and holds them between us. The back of his forearm grazes over my nipple and I hiss at the contact with the piercing.

Arousal shoots through me. My breath hitches, making my chest rise and graze his arm again.

Holy shit.

The look on his face tells me he knows exactly what he is doing. Our friends are all here, but I dare not look away. I have no clue what he is going to say but I open my mouth and blurt out my truth before he can.

“I was an architect.”

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