When his hand closes over my upper arm, I jerk away and slam my elbow into the glass door. Pain is a brilliant starburst up my arm as I nail my funny bone.
I swear. Loud enough that people inside the foyer pause and shift to get a better look at whatever they think is getting ready to happen.
I am so not doing this. Not here. Not ever.
"You don't have permission to touch me." My voice doesn't waver. Doesn't tremble. "Ever again. You made it abundantly clear where I stand with you, and I have more pride than to let someone try to change who I am." I'm not screaming. I'm not raising my voice. But damn it, he is going to get the point.
And maybe someday, I'll get him out of my head.
"Is everything okay?"
There is a part of me, a tiny part that I'm ashamed to admit exists, that wants to lean toward the strength and security I hear in Josh's voice. I can feel him like a solid wall behind me, and it takes everything I have not to let that relief show on my face.
I turn to him slowly and offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. "Sure. I was just coming to meet you."
I look back and see a hint of darkness that flashes in Robert's eyes. Just a moment and it's gone, but I remember the ugliness he hides beneath that smooth, collected exterior.
Josh is a solid wall between me and the freedom I need, but he is not watching me. He's staring at Robert. I've seen that look on his face before. Last night at The Pint, right before he knocked the guy at the bar on his ass. And as much as I might hate Robert, I don't want Josh fighting on campus.
"Are you okay?" It is only after he speaks that he looks away from Robert and down at me.
I reach out before I can stop myself. Maybe it's because I need the contact; maybe it's because I need the reminder that he is real and solid and good. I place my hand on his chest, right over the slow and steady beat of his heart. Those dark green eyes fill with an intensity that's as frightening as it is compelling.
"Let's go," I whisper when I'm sure I won't embarrass myself.
His gaze flicks over my shoulder then back down to me. The intent to harm is gone now, leaving only warmth in the darkness of his eyes. A warmth that draws me closer to this powerful, dangerous man when I know damn good and well I should be going in the opposite direction.
But still Josh doesn't move.
"You're shaking." His voice is low and deep, laced with worry that melts me a little more.
"I'm fine."
He swallows and I'm tempted, so tempted, to slide my fingers over the movement in his throat. To see if his pulse is racing like mine. To see how warm his skin would be beneath my touch.
He moves then, sliding his palm over my cheek. I want so badly to lean against his touch. Instead, I close my eyes and remain absolutely still. Afraid that if I move, a predator will rise behind his touch and chase me if I so much as flinch.
And I'm not so sure I wouldn't welcome the chase.
Josh
I'm marginally calmer now. And by marginally calmer, I'm no longer fighting the urge to go find the guy who was giving Abby shit and tear his spine out. Abby sits across from me in the carrel. We're alone, which is probably not where we need to be right now. At least, not me. With her. Damn it, I can't even think straight around her.
I'm staring at my hands, unable to look up at her. There is a shame choking me, thick and squeezing my throat. Shame at the intensity of my reaction. Shame that no matter how long and far away from the war I get, my first reaction is always violence.
Violence is easy. Violence is simple.
"You're angry." Her words are not a question.
"You're perceptive."
"And now you're cranky."
Her expression is tight and tense, despite her attempt at sarcasm. I smile thinly. “I’m worried.”
She swallows and picks at her thumbnail. "That was Robert. He's my ex."
I figured as much. You don't get that fired up with someone who doesn't involve some broken emotional attachment.
But the thought of her with him does something to my insides. It hurts. Really hurts. And I can't explain why. I lock my fingers together, needing something to do with my hands. There is a need for violence in me right now. Not toward her. No, never that.
But there was something in her eyes when she'd been talking to him. Something that struck me forcibly as not Abby. Something that felt wrong.
“He knew how to hurt me. With words, not fists.”