—And your point is? — he retorts, turning and leaning his back against the glass, his crooked smile flashing momentarily. — Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want.
— And what exactly is it that you want? — I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, as an invisible means of protection against him. As if there was anything that really could.
Ettore pushes himself off the wall and walks toward me like a lion about to pounce on its prey. He stops in front of me, closer than necessary, and reaches out, using one finger to lift my chin so my eyes meet his. “You,” he says simply.
I feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room with that one simple word, I can't breathe. Disbelief and desire momentarily flood me as I accept his answer. The heat is fleeting when I realize this
