Page 95 of Bite Me

“I never see you in the morning.”

“I didn’t know you were looking.”

“How can I not?” He licks his teeth.

Luther is a few inches too close to my face, and his fingers are touching the edge of my leg. Even drunk, he’s not my type.

What would I say my type is? Dashingly handsome gentlemen who wear suits and just happen to have tattoos lining their arms?

I can’t hide from the truth. Nothing I like about Dacre has to do with his appearance. I mean, it helps, but . . .

I like his mind. I like those carefully thought out plans and schemes, even if I’m out of the fold, because it’s something I don’t have. I like his effortless talent and the way he makes everything in the kitchen look easy because nothing is that easy for me, maybe aside from baking. I could watch him cook all day and never get bored.

I love the challenge. Mom and Dad were perfect for each other, but natural opponents. Mom was the fire, and Dad was the rain. Their bickering was never malicious, more like heated debates and gentle bending when one of them won the argument.

It’s impossible to hate him. After all, I miss him, even though it’s only been hours. Checking the door every thirty minutes reminds me that Dacre is under my skin. Somewhere in him is a kind man whom I can feel but don’t always see.

When Luther leans in, I crinkle my nose and fall back on the bed to rub my hair into the sheets. It’s not an invitation for anything. Rather, it’s my last attempt at doing something Dacre might hear about and get jealous over. Perhaps he’ll go feral and start a fight.

That’s enough drunk Emma thoughts for me.

I weasel my way out from under Luther’s lustful stare by faking a phone call from my dad.

The house is made of pristine halls that lead to a confusing layout of meeting rooms and dining areas. The sterile birch wood makes me feel as if I’m walking around in an abandoned department store. I stumble as I turn the corner of another hall.

All I need to do is get back to my room. It’s past midnight. No one will see me.

I hit a wall. Or at least, I think it’s a wall at first because the lighting is dim.

“Emma.” Dacre towers over me, holding me up by the forearm.

I expect a lecture. A groan, an insult. I brace as if I have the energy or the desire to fight back, but I’m the vulnerable one here. I feel strangely bare in front of him. I check to make sure my skirt is down and that my shirt isn’t tugged in a way that reveals my bra or something.

“Is Luther going to walk you to your room?”

I shake my head, a little rattled and dizzy.

“That would be a bad idea, remember?” I say.

“Come on. I’ll take you.”

“You don’t have to . . . I can do it my—”

“You can’t walk around in the dark. Don’t argue.”

Heat rises in my cheeks and then makes its way down between my legs. It’s an order, and I’m not feeling very assertive. In fact, I’m feeling like rubbing my cheek all over Dacre’s chest because he smells so good, and I feel naked and exposed and want him to warm me.

I think I left my shoes somewhere in Verity’s room.

“You had a good time?” Everything about him seems neutral and unbothered as he walks next to me with his hands tucked into his pants.

“Yes, it was great.”

“Great? Wow.”

“Why ‘wow?’”

“I had no idea you and Luther were so . . . close.”