“I’m not with her,” he says bluntly.
“Okay. Well, she’s got a different impression.”
“No, she doesn’t,” he pulls me a step back into the room.
“Easton, stop this shit, now, and let me go.”
Ignoring me, he pulls me into him. Panicking, I glance around. “You’re making a scene. People are staring.”
“That’s your hang-up, not mine,” he growls. “We need to talk. We’re talking. Right fucking now.”
“No, we’re good. I came, I saw. I got the T-shirt, thank you for a lovely—fuck!” I shriek as Easton moves like a freight train through the room, bypassing hordes of people toward a heavily guarded hall. He stops and addresses a security guard, and the guard nods, letting Easton pull me past him.
In the next second, I’m being tugged down the corridor before being yanked into and released inside a hotel suite fit for royalty. Glaring at me, Easton slams the door behind him and closes his eyes, fists clenched at his sides.
Averting my gaze from the tall, dark, gorgeous temptation blocking my exit, I sweep the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, a sunken tub, and an opulent master bath on the other. In the middle of the room, beneath a sea of white-washed glass, sits a massive four-poster bed. It’s posh, pristine, and wildly romantic, but I’m far too pissed off to appreciate it.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?!” I shout as Easton remains standing at the door, seeming to gather himself. He’s angry in a way I’m not familiar with, though I’ve been warned of his temper. He seems to be trying to rein it in now as he stands motionless for several seconds. But when his eyes finally open, it’s all I can do to keep from taking a step back. He’s positively furious.
“Admit it,” he commands in a lethal tone.
“Admit what? That you’re acting like a fucking child? That’s your admission to make.”
“Admit you didn’t want to leave what happened in Seattle any more than I did, and you still don’t.”
Torch Song
Shady Bard
Natalie
Our chests rise and fall as he shakes his head in irritation. “Jesus, you really are intent on seeing this through.”
“Easton—”
“Fine,” he interrupts, pointing to his chest, “I’ll go first, again. I’ve thought about you every damn day since you left, but I’ve made that pretty fucking obvious. Your turn.”
“What is this? A tantrum for not getting the reaction you hoped for?”
“Oh, I got it,” he scoffs, “I saw it, I can still see it, feel it, all of it from you. You just fucking refuse to admit it to me.” He blows out a harsh exhale and rolls his head up on the door, his tone biting. “I want to hear you say it.”
I stalk toward him, more so, toward the door. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but you win, Easton, okay? You win.” I stop a foot away and can physically feel the contempt rolling off his frame.
“You think I can’t see what hurts you? Fucking admit it, Natalie.”
“What do you want to hear?”
“Admit you were just fucking jealous! Admit that it hurt you when I didn’t look at you on stage tonight. Admit that you want this to happen just as badly as I do.”
“It can’t happen.”
“It already has, and you know it.”
I drop my gaze as the sting again starts behind my eyes. “Easton, I’ve explained this over and over again, okay? I should go. I need to go.”
Several heartbeats later, he speaks up.
“Then go… Run.” My eyes flick to his as he averts his and takes several steps away from the door, giving me a wide berth. “Run. I promise you won’t ever hear from me again.”
I grip the knob as he keeps his back to me.
“That’s not what I want.”
“It’s what it is, Natalie.”
“I’m not running.”
“Sure, you aren’t. But just know, the second you step out of that door, we’ll both be settling for whatever’s out there after. At least I know I fucking will.”
The burn in my throat worsens as I remain where I stand. “Easton, I’ll admit I have feelings for—”
“Right,” he cuts me off, shoving his hands in his jeans.
“I don’t want to leave like this.”
“You don’t want to leave at all,” he utters.
“You’re so sure.”
“Yeah, I fucking am because you’re still here.”