“I disagree.”
“You think you know me?”
“I know that when you need a break from people, you become more snarky.”
“Snarky?”
“I read.”
I laughed.
“And,” he continued, “I know that when you start rolling your shoulders, someone’s about to face a beating. When you eat, you focus on one thing at a time until it’s gone. When you drink, you always lick the cup’s edge before setting it down.”
I did what?
“When you sleep, you curl on your side and tuck your hands under your cheek. When you’re upset, you say things you normally wouldn’t. When you fight, you hate hurting the other person...except the Urbat. You worry about the people around you and resent what you do to them. You think you need to be alone for the rest of your life and that scares you. You love stretchy clothes because you can move in them. You need to condition your hair in order to comb through it. You think makeup is a waste of time.”
“Stop. How can you possibly know all that?” He was right, of course, but how could he know?
“Because I pay attention, Isabelle. Because I care more than you can imagine.”
I stared at him for several heartbeats while everything he’d just said sank in.
“So, you do know me. And you think that makes us ready for what? Being engaged? Living happily ever after?”
“I think it makes us ready to see each other for what we really are.”
“And what are we?”
“Meant to be.”
His certainty thrilled and scared me.
“What if I don’t want what you want?”
“And what do you think I want?”
“Biting...running...mating.”
He smiled and shook his head.
“No, Isabelle. I just want you.”
My heart stumbled. Carlos was right, I was afraid of hurting him. My one attempt at a date stuck out in my mind. All it took was the thrill of a first touch, allowing myself to feel it, and I’d nearly killed the boy. Ethan had known the risk. He’d kissed me, but I’d never let myself feel anything. I couldn’t. It would have killed him.
But Carlos was different. I couldn’t pull emotions from him or push them into him. What would happen if I kissed him?
My pulse jumped as I considered it.
“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” I said softly.
“I know you are. But you won’t.”
My imagination continued to explore the possibilities as my gaze drifted over his face, and my neck grew warm.
He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his pupils seemed a bit dilated.
“I’ve waited so long for that.”
“What?” I said, afraid I already knew the answer.
“Your desire.”
He stayed in his spot, his gaze devouring me. If he’d made a move toward me, I would have bolted or kicked him in the face. He was smart to wait me out.
“This is a stupid idea,” I said.
“It’s the best idea in the world.”
“What if I knock you out?”
“I’ll be the happiest, unconscious man ever.”
“Gah!” I turned my head away but didn’t get up. Why was I fighting this internal battle? Was I fighting what I felt for him, just for the sake of fighting? Didn’t I want to know something more than that? Didn’t I want to have someone I could spend my life with? I rubbed my face in frustration. I didn’t want someone; I wanted Carlos.
With a slow exhale, I swallowed hard then turned to look at him again. Yep, he was still there, watching me with the same lack of expression. My stomach twisted and flipped at the sight of him.
Wiping my hands on my leggings, I gathered my courage and moved to kneel beside him. I wasn’t imagining the change in his pupils because, as I stared, they grew larger. I inched toward him. My hands shook, and I felt lightheaded. What was I doing? How could I risk this? Him?
Carefully, I set my right hand on his left shoulder. He shuddered at the contact. My heart started to hammer, and I withdrew my hand.
In a quick move, he wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me up and over so I was straddling his lap. Both my hands rested on his shoulders as I stared down at him with wide eyes.
Despite the shaking, his expression, though intense, remained void of any emotion.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, unable to go further without knowing.
“I’m trying to think of what I can say, what I can promise you to get you to finish what you’ve started.”
His desperation made my lips curve and eased some of my tension. I was still in control.
“And what did I start?”
His fingers twitched at my waist.
“Just kiss me already, Isabelle.”
Nervousness at hearing him say it aloud had me wondering if he’d let me escape. As I stared into his deep brown eyes, I realized I didn’t want to run. I wanted to stay. I wanted to try. Slowly, I reached up and set my hands along his jaw. His pulse jumped under my fingertips, and the shaking grew more pronounced. Mindful of his bruises, I lightly ran my fingers over his stubble. He held still, letting me explore the arch of his brow, the slight bump on his nose, and the curve of his bottom lip.
My pulse raced as I traced my finger over his mouth once more. What would it feel like to press my lips to his? I desperately wanted to know. I leaned in, watching him as I closed the distance between us.
An inch from his lips, I paused and tried to control what I felt. I didn’t want to drain him.
Carefully, I brushed my mouth lightly across his. A zing of excitement and need ripped through me, and I quickly pulled away to check him. His eyes immediately popped open. The pupils were extremely dilated, but very much human.
Reassured, I dipped my head down to try again. Setting my lips against his, I explored the warmth and texture of his skin. I nibbled at his fuller bottom lip, and a faint growl rumbled in his chest. His hands, still curled around my waist, gripped me more firmly when I opened my mouth and licked his lip.
He didn’t stop me or take over. He continued to let me explore one little nip and lick at a time. My skin tingled but not in the negative way I’d grown so used to. Finally, I pulled back and gave him a tentative smile.
When he opened his eyes, the pupils were far too large for his face.
“Does this mean you’re ready?” His voice was rough, deep, and hard to understand, and each word he spoke exposed his elongated canines.
I swallowed hard and slowly shook my head. Whatever he was ready for, I definitely was not.
“Too bad,” he said a moment before he had me on my back, his weight pressing me into the couch.
Before I could inhale a decent breath to tell him to get off, he buried his face in the curve of my neck. His tongue traced a wet path up to the little dip below my ear. I shivered and gripped his shoulders. His teeth scraped my skin there, and a rather girly sigh escaped me.
“Carlos, wait,” I said on another breathy exhale.
His tongue blazed a trail back down to my collarbone, played there for a bit, then traced its way up the other side of my neck. By the time he nibbled that side, I was panting. He left my neck and pulled back enough to look down at me.
“Bite me, Isabelle.”
Like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head, his words brought clarity to what we were doing.
“It’s time for you to get off me,” I said, giving his shoulders a slight push.
He dropped his forehead to my chest.
Why did that cause a burst of heat inside me?
“Seriously. Up now.” I pushed his shoulders again, with very little effect. He wasn’t ready to stop. I needed to make him.
“I’m going to start pulling and won’t stop until I have enough strength to push you off me. Is that what you want?”
He lifted himself off me, stood, then stiffly left the apartment.
I watched the rest of the movie alone.
* * * *
After taking a very long, hot shower, I sat on the couch and brushed my hair while I contemplated if I should go and find Carlos. I didn’t think he’d been mad when he’d left. Annoyed, maybe. Disappointed, most likely. But not mad. What was the point of tracking him down, then? I wasn’t ready to pick up where we’d left off.