“I won’t.”
“But you want to.”
“Yes.”
The word is shocking.
Silence falls heavy between us.
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I whisper.
“Already did,” he replies.
I swallow.
“You should go.”
He doesn’t move.
Instead, he steps closer.
Close enough that I can feel heat rolling off him.
“Mara,” he says quietly.
I shouldn’t look at his mouth.
I do anyway.
“You’re playing with something you don’t understand,” I warn.
His eyes darken.
“Try me.”
That stupid, reckless confidence.
“I almost lost everything once,” I say. “I can’t do that again.”
“I’m not him.”
“I know.”
That’s what makes it worse.
His hand slides from my wrist to my waist.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Testing.
I don’t push him away.
My brain screams at me to.
My body leans closer instead.
“This is a bad idea,”
