Page 12 of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
I’m out of the car before he can respond, but his car door echoes mine. I’m already at the entrance of my apartment building, fingers tugging at the handle, when he slams a hand on the glass, preventing my escape.
“Lilah.”
Goose bumps erupt where his breath blows against my neck.
Steeling my shoulders doesn’t help. Not with the warmth of him at my back.
I release the door handle, dropping my arms to my sides in defeat.
He turns me to face him, his fingers gentle on my shoulders. His blue eyes search mine, like he can see through the snark and bickering I choose to hide behind. It leaves me exposed. Vulnerable.
“What?” The word comes out on a gasp as he presses me between his hard body and the door, his chest heaving against me, one leg all but wedged between mine.
“Why are you upset?”
“I’m not.”
Deny, deny, deny.
“You are.”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
It has everything to do with him. Or rather, how he makes me feel when I’m not pissed off at him.
One thick eyebrow arches as he studies me.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want.” I try to pull away, but since his body pins me to the door, I can’t escape.
If possible, he moves closer, and I swear his heartbeat matches rhythm with mine.
“I believe we’re both lying.”
“Both?” I’m confused.
“You won’t admit you’re mad at me—”
“I’m not.”
He ignores my interruption.
“And I lied to you about why I remember where you live.”
The breath catches in my throat at his admission, and I swallow slowly.
“You did?”
He nods and lifts his hand, almost in slow motion, and trails a finger along my jaw. I close my eyes and lean into the warmth.
“I remember everything about you. You’re stuck in here.”
When I open my eyes, I find him pointing to his temple.
“Because you hate me.”
His chuckle is sad. “It would be easier to hate you.”
