Cross The Line

CHAPTER THREE

"I know. You came here to boss me around, insert yourself into my love life — a place you most definitely do not belong — and reestablish yourself as an all-round jackass. Congrats!" I announce, making jazz-hands in the air between us. "You succeeded."

His eyes flash with something scary again and he goes so tense, all my bluster and brass evaporates in an instant. When he strides closer, so there's only a foot or so between us, my palms stop jazzing and go flat against his muscular chest.

I want to push him away.

I want to pull him closer.

I do neither.

He glares down into my eyes with a thunderous expression, and it takes all my strength not to give in to his intimidation and shy away like a scared little girl.

"Stay away from Brett Croft," he rumbles at me, deadly serious.

"Stay away from me!" I yell back, angrier than I've been in a long time. Partly at him, because he's the most domineering, overbearing man in the history of human existence, but mostly at myself, for being so affected by him despite that fact.

Yip! Yip! Yip! Boo chimes in from the couch.

Neither of us looks at the dog. We're too busy glaring at each other, our faces so close I can feel his breath on my lips. His eyes seem to burn into mine, intense and angry. It's almost painful to hold his stare, to resist the pull that — despite my best efforts — still exists between us. Thankfully, I've had a lot of practice looking at Nate with indifference on my face while my heart's aflame in my chest.

He's just never been standing so close before, looking back at me like he's on fire, too.

For a split second, his gaze darts down to my mouth, lingering there for no longer than a heartbeat before flashing back to meet mine. I can't help the surprised hiss of air that escapes my lips, as I try to keep myself under control.

He's never looked at me like that before.

My nerve endings are frazzled, divided — half enraged, half enamored, equally angry and aroused. I'm being torn in two with opposing needs.

To kiss him.

To kill him.

To claim him.

To curse him.

With Nate and me, it all comes down to need. To lust — that driving force, that infatuating, life-creating elixir that ties me up in knots of desire, of passion, of pain. Even before I had words to define my feelings for him, I was consumed by it.

Wanting. Craving. Longing.

I lust for his body on mine as much as I lust for my own retribution, for my own selfish need to unhinge him like he's always unhinged me. That familiar, heady, heart-stopping yearning, born of half a lifetime of cumulative need stirs in my veins.... but it's not alone. No. Bloodlust — a darker, deeper, more dangerous desire, born of resentment and rejection — stirs there as well. It near tears me in half, the wanting. The needing. The lusting. The loathing.

The line between wanting him and hating him for never wanting me is so blurred, I can barely sort out my own feelings.

Still glaring down at me, he makes a sound at the back of his throat, almost a growl. Thoughts move in his eyes, but I can't for the life of me decipher them.

"Is that all you wanted?" I whisper, gaze locked on his. I have no idea what emotions are swimming in my eyes. "To talk about Brett?"

He doesn't move. I don't even think he's breathing. Boo has fallen eerily quiet, as though sensing the extreme tension between Nate and me as we stare at each other in the dark. It's so still, so silent, I can almost hear the locking of his jaw, how his teeth grind together as he searches for control.

I've never seen him like this — his eyes a little wild, his words a little reckless. Around me, he's never been anything except the epitome of restraint. Until now.

I wish I could say I didn't like it.

I lean closer, maybe a centimeter, but that tiny distance feels like a leap off a cliff into the unknown. Our eyes never break contact, our breaths don't slow. I wonder if his heart is beating as fast as mine.

"West..." His voice is low, warning.

My name is Phoebe, I want to say. No amount of forced formality can cut these ties between us.

I want to say it, but I don't. There are more pressing wants on my mind.

I want him to sate the storm that's been building since we were hardly more than kids.

I want his tongue in my mouth, my name on his lips, the look on my face when he comes into me burned into the back of his eyelids every time he closes them, just so he knows what it is to be owned entirely by another human being.

I want him to bury himself so deep beneath my skin he'll never find his way out, so he knows exactly how it feels to have someone so enmeshed in your soul, it's impossible to remove them without tearing yourself in two.

In this frozen instant, I'm honestly not sure if, given the chance, I'd slap his cheek or crush his mouth to mine, as I've wanted to for so long.

Let's find out, a crazy voice at the back of my mind whispers. You know you want to.

I sway forward, unable to deny his pull for another moment... and try not to scream in frustration when he instantly takes two steps back. The haze clears from his eyes so fast you'd think it was never there at all, and his face shutters in an aloof expression I recognize all too well.

"Yes," he says flatly, no longer looking at me. "That's all I wanted."

Shame, hot and hurtful, burns through me.

"Great," I snap. "Well, if we're finished here, I need to go schedule a prefrontal lobotomy to scrub this encounter from my memories, so..."

I turn on one heel.

"I mean it, West." I flinch to a stop at the steel in his tone. "Stay away from Croft."

My eyes flicker back to his, refusing to show any intimidation. "You gonna add the cliché 'or else' to that statement, or...."

He doesn't say anything, but the skin around his eyes crinkles up the tiniest bit — anyone else, I'd say they were fighting a grin. But it's Nate. He's probably picturing ways to chop up my body and dispose of the pieces where no one will ever find them.

I swallow hard.

"Oh, goodie. Another scintillating moment of silence," I mutter, rolling my eyes to prove how cool and collected I am. Psh. "You can see yourself out, Nathaniel."

I use his full name just to goad him, knowing he detests the formality of it. Spinning around, I grab Boo off the couch and storm from the room before he can say another word.

Before he can see the angry tears glossing over my eyes.

Jackass.

I am so fracking done with Nathaniel Knox and his mind games.