Page 73 of The Heart of Winter

Then Sariel slowly turned his head, his gaze drifting absently across the store shelves, but I could tell he was immersed in thought.

And then… damn, he hit right on target:

"He hurt you deep, didn’t he?"

The anger nearly exploded out of me.

How dare he!

How dare he touch on something nobody even knew about… something I didn’t want to deal with myself.

So I just kept going, like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t hit the nail on the head.

"You’re the epitome of a rich, careless kid. You think you can have everything. From the second I met you, all I’ve wanted was to punch that cute, bratty face of yours!"

The words hit the air, and I knew the second they left my mouth, they were exactly what he wanted. In a twisted way.

"Then do it," he murmured, something dark flickering in his eyes as he leaned in, his chest pressing even harder against mine.

Our breaths mingled. We were so close that if he kissed me right now, I wouldn’t stop him. In fact, I might even bite his lower lip. The thought surfaced in my mind before I had the chance to stop it.

"Well?" he taunted. "Do it. Hit me. Just like you’ve always wanted to. The disgusting, spoiled little brat who threatens to ruin your career, who says all the things you don’t want to hear…"

I felt my pulse hammering. I did want to slap him, somewhat. Just enough to make that damn fringe fall over his other eye. Just to see the flicker of something breaking in his gaze… And then, Fate help me, to piece him back together again.

I twitched slightly as I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist.

It hit me then that we were completely alone in the pasta aisle. Not a single soul around. Just me, him, and this strange, charged, almost exhilarating atmosphere between us.

Sariel lifted my hand, positioning it just right, so that if I swung, it would land clean across his face.

"Go on," he challenged. "Hit me, Winter. Oh, excuse me—‘Director’. I’ve been a bad boy, haven’t I? I deserve a good slap."

"Maybe you do," I muttered. "The question is, do I actually want to give it to you?"

My skin prickled with heat. His grip on my wrist was firm, and then I noticed it, the hair tie on his own wrist. Mine.

He had a piece of me. Maybe more than I was willing to give. Maybe… still not enough.

"Come on, show some guts, Winter. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t tell my father, I’m not a fucking snitch! Don’t be scared, it’ll be our dirty little secret. You’ll have lived out every corporate worker’s fantasy, punching the boss’s spoiled brat of a son."

I was right on the edge, teetering over the intense, metallic taste of potential. Had he read that desire in me? Or had he pushed it just a little further than I was prepared for?

His fingers tightened around my wrist—and then, before I could react, he pulled my arm back and swung it forward.

Using my own hand, he slapped himself across the face.

Hard.

I felt the sharp sting as my palm collided with his cheek, the sound cracking through the empty aisle.

"Fuck!" I hissed, recoiling.

To anyone watching, it would have looked like I had actually hit him. But I knew the truth, I could never have done it myself. It wasn’t what I wanted deep down. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted. It was simply… wrong.

And it broke me inside, in a way.

Sariel stood there, head slightly bent down and to the side, bangs falling low, something like sadness in his eyes.

---