Page 37 of Faded Rhythm

When I gaze at the screen, all I see are names and numbers.

“What does this have to do with me?”

“He kept this for a reason,” King answers. “We just need to figure out why.”

I nod slowly as I notice a single droplet of water sliding down the side of his neck. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and wipe it away with the pad of my finger.

His body tenses, and I feel a shiver move through him.

I don’t know what makes me do it…maybe the alcohol, maybe the ache in my chest…but I touch him again, tracing my fingertips over his cheek.

He closes his eyes. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t pull away.

I let my palm rest flat against his cheek. The stubble is rough, but it feels good against my skin. Almost as good as when he ever-so-slightly leans into my hand. Just a little. Just enough to deny if questioned.

My body hums. My nipples tighten. I caress his jaw, then his neck, dragging my fingers over his collarbone before they come to rest at the center of his chest. Right over one of those hideous scars.

“What happened to you?” I murmur.

His eyes fly open. He jerks back like I slapped him, then jumps up so fast, the chair rocks me back and forth.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands.

“Nothing. I saw…” I trail off, confused by his anger. “You saw me naked, King. I’m not allowed to ask you about your scars?”

“What the fuck does one have to do with the other?”

I stare into his dark eyes and feel something. It’s not fear, even though it probably should be.

“And the only reason I saw you naked is because you wanna fuck me.”

NowIrear back like I’ve been struck.

“Don’t look surprised,” he grits. “You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried.”

“Whatever. So what if I do wanna fuck you? I’m human. I have desires.”

He stares blankly as if he doesn’t understand my humanity. As if he hasn’t been programmed with the empathy chip.

“You looked at me,” I accuse. “And it was obvious.”

He blows out a breath. “I had to take the picture.”

“No,” I say, rising to my feet. “It was more than that.”

He doesn’t move or speak. He’s rooted right there next to the desk.

“Are you scared of women?”

That gets him. “Fuck outta here.”

“There must be a reason you’re so guarded and jittery around me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sable.”

That’s what his mouth says. His body is saying something else, though. He’s not fully hard, but the bulge is definitely bigger than it was two minutes ago.

I stop in front of him, staring up, searching for a crack in the armor.

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