Page 44 of Cross Me

“You can’t hide from me, X,” I said when he continued to undress without so much as a glance.

“Believe me, I know that.” He pressed his lips into a thin smile, reaching for the back of his t-shirt.

“I don’t know why you’re getting undressed,” I said quickly. The truth was that if he took off his shirt I wasn’t sure what would happen. Actually, I had a pretty good idea.

“I was getting ready for bed.” He glanced over as if to make sure we had one.

We had one and I knew that because I’d been sleeping in it alone. It had felt too large without him there. My heart ached at the thought of unfolding my body against his and finally getting a decent night’s sleep.

Instead, I planted my hands on my hips and forced myself to sound calm. “Maybe you should stay in the guest room.”

He blinked like I’d been speaking a foreign language and he needed a second to translate. “I thought most of the guest rooms were taken.”

He had me there. Between Penny and Brexton and Noris and Georgia, the house was full. Our group had even spilled over to a local inn. My mind raced, trying to come up with a new objection before my heart got its way. “There’s always the couch.”

“Poppet,” he began.

“Don’t Poppet me,” I snapped. “You were rude. You were condescending. You embarrassed me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he massaged the spot, his hand raking across his 5 o’clock shadow. My body responded to the noise, remembering the times his stubble had scraped deliciously over the skin of my thighs. I hated that I responded so instantly to his presence. I hated that even now, when I was extremely pissed with him, part of me was glad he was here. I’d missed him. No matter how angry I was—no matter the distance between us—I loved him.

“If you want me to go…” He let the offer hang in the air, waiting for me to grab hold of it or dismiss it.

“You should stay,” I said, “for Elizabeth. She misses you.”

I miss you, too. I kept that to myself.

“I missed her.” His eyes caught mine. “I missed you.”

“You knew where I was.” I hadn’t quite forgiven him for acting like an ape to Anderson. Or for outing my pregnancy to the world. Or for a lot of things, apparently. He must have known that, so why had he chosen to show his face today of all days? “Why are you here?”

“It’s my birthday.” The accusation that should have been there wasn’t. Instead, the words were hollow. “You probably were busy.”

I swallowed. I’d been caught up in the ceremonies and hadn’t called. Or had I been punishing him? “I know. I picked the date. It was supposed to be a surprise. The Sovereign Games should celebrate the Sovereign, after all.”

“I don’t care about the games.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t care that it’s my birthday. I needed to see you.”

“I guess you’re supposed to get your wish today.”

“You’re the only thing I want,” he said softly. “I don’t need presents or parties. Just you.”

“Good, because I didn’t get you anything.” I crossed my arms, suddenly defensive. I’d been angry and preoccupied. Christ, was I turning into him? Becoming so lost in my work that I forgot birthdays? I was clinging to my anger, because I suspected that if I released it, I’d have to face how horrible I felt.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said in a low voice.

“Is that your way of apologizing?” I could never be sure with him. Alexander had a bad habit of thinking everything he did was justified. It meant that he didn’t regularly say he was sorry.

“Yes,” he said. “Forgive me?”

“Well, that depends. Are you going to keep acting like a jackass?” But I found myself crossing the room. I stopped short of him, not certain if I should take those last steps. Alexander wrapped an arm around my waist and closed that final distance. My hands slid under his shirt, seeking his warmth and lingering on the hard, muscular plane of his abs.

“If you stop making me jealous,” he said. He leaned closer, his mouth temptingly close to mine.

“Jealous?” I raised an eyebrow. “I was doing my job. You didn’t want to host the games, so I did.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He traced a finger down my nose to my lower lip before sighing. He shook his head, his mouth twitching with an exasperated grin that looked anything but amused. I wanted to kiss him until he stopped looking at me that way. Or slap him. Both seemed like effective methods. “He asked you to dinner.”

“Who? Dinner? What?” I drew back, confused, before I figured out what he meant. “Anders? He’s a kid.”