This is ridiculous. Why am I doing this? He’s made it abundantly clear he wants nothing to do with me—at least, not in any way that matters.
Except that’s not true, is it?
He wants me. That much was obvious from the way he kissed me. From the way his body pressed against mine, hot and hard and hungry. What was that filthy, devastating monologue he delivered with his lips against my ear, if not proof that he’s feeling as crazed and horny as I am?
He’s just convinced himself he can’t have me.
For all I know, he’s right. Maybe he truly is a monster, like he says. If he’s even halfway correct, I should be running screaming in the opposite direction, booking the first flight back to New York, and going straight to a police station to file a restraining order. Do not pass Go, do not collect
