Page 149 of Secret Obsession
“What?”
“Don’t ruin it by putting your guard up.” He cups my jaw. “Because for a second there, I think you forgot about all the shit you’ve been through, and you actually felt something.”
I shake my head, my throat closing up. “Just an orgasm. Nothing to freak out about.”
He scoffs. “One day, you’ll admit the truth to yourself.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you do know how to love and you’ve fallen head over heels for me.”
“That’s not the truth.”
“It’s the only piece of truth that matters, Willow.” His thumb coasts under the edge of my jaw, forcing my head up. So I can’t hide from him. “And I’m catching you. Every time you feel unsure or afraid or like you want to climb out of your skin with terror and doubt.”
I don’t want this conversation.
Maybe he realizes it, because he drops his hand and turns around, opening the door onto the ice. Without a word, he steps out of the penalty box and skates toward the players’ benches. I follow more slowly, still half-dazed by the orgasm and conversation.
Like, damn. Why does he have to go and insinuate what I feel? No—he doesn’t fucking insinuate. He goes out of his way to tell me exactly where I am with my emotions.
He can’t know more than I do aboutmyself.
“Willow.”
I jerk to attention, refocusing on Miles. He’s got gloves and pads on, a goalie stick in one hand and a regular stick in the other. I belatedly register the pucks sliding across the ice around him, like they’ve got little minds of their own and want to follow.
You’re being stupid.
“What’s this?”
“The next part of our date.” He holds out the regular stick. “You’ve got the skating part down. But can you get the puck past me?”
I perk up. “What do I get if I do?”
His eyes darken. “What do you want?”
Something that’ll knock him off his high horse.
Wait. “What doyouwant if I can’t?”
He grins. “Ah, I was wondering if you’d ask. I want a second date.”
“This one isn’t even over.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but I’d prefer to guarantee a continuation.”
I take the stick from him and glide backward, out of reach. “I don’t know,” I hedge. “I’m already sleeping in your bed. Isn’t that enough?”
“You could give me everything in the world except your heart, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
I snag a puck and fling it toward the far net. It slings far and wide, hitting the boards with a resoundingcrack. Well, okay, no shooting from the center line.
“Is that what you’re asking for? According to you, you already have it.”
He laughs. “You’re fickle, you know that?”
“My parents tell me I’m hard to love all the time,” I comment.
