Page 21 of Between Storms and Scars
“Sin?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. He props himself up on one elbow, staring down at me. He traces his thumb delicately against my cheek. “Am I sinful?” he guesses.
“You’re a cinnamon roll,” I say, staring up at him. “Hot. Sweet. Gooey on the inside.”
He snorts and pulls back. “Absolutely not. I’m hot. Yes. Sweet? Maybe. Gooey on the inside? Just no.”
“Yes.” I say, grinning, glad I found something that will annoy him. “You’re my cin bun.”
“Call me that again.” Heat flashes through his eyes and there’s a hint of annoyance in his tone.
But it’s Liam and as angry as he gets, the more that I’ve come to know him, he’s not really a bad guy.
He’s bluffing. The angry threat is just that, him trying to stir me up and cause trouble.
“Cin bun.” I giggle.
He pins me down on the mattress, trapping my arms, pulling them above my head.
“Liam?” My voice catches in my throat. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching my little firebreather a lesson.” He grabs a long piece of cloth and ropes it around my wrists, binding them together. “Do you trust me?”
Slowly, I nod, staring up at him. “Yes.”
My stomach roils as the bed dips.
He’s leaving me, like this?
Immediately, I sit up and move my bound arms around him, keeping him to me, as the cloth slides down my wrists.
He never tied the cloth or secured it.
“Seems you don’t trust me after all,” Liam whispers, his gaze hot against my skin.
“That’s not true.”
I lean in, taking a taste, silencing him.
Was it a test?
I don’t care, I pull him back down beneath the covers, the air growing cooler without his body flush on mine.
He climbs back down, his body hovering, teasing, but not pressing his weight down into me. Like he’s deciding if he wants this—me.
“Is this because I called you a cinnamon roll? Are you trying to prove you’re not a sweet guy?” I can’t help but wonder if he’s teaching me a lesson.
His laugh is dark and he pulls me onto my side, curling up against me beneath the covers. “I’m not sweet, Bristol.”
I stare into his pale-blue gaze, my fingers tangle in the golden threads of his hair, but I don’t buy it. “Sure, you’re a bad boy. My mistake.”
He grumbles under his breath, like I’ve insulted him.
“Is it so terrible to be a cinnamon roll?” I ask. “Would you rather be a Golden Retriever?”
He coughs and raises an eyebrow, not the least bit amused. “You’re calling me a dog?”
“No,” I exhale loudly and roll onto my back.
Liam pulls me at my hips, rolling me back into him, his hand on my lower back, forcing me to face him. He’s not letting me escape or run away from this onslaught of questions.
