“Frankly, it’s none of your fracking business who I date!”
“Fracking?”
“And furthermore,” I barrel on, ignoring his amused question. “These are not fu… fu…” I swallow hard. “They are not those kind of heels.”
His mouth tugs up at one side and the sight of it makes my heart skip a beat.
“Can’t say the word fuck, West?” He sounds vastly entertained by the idea.
My cheeks heat.
Oh, I can, all right. I just worry that if I say fuck me while you’re standing so close, my body will disobey orders and wrap around you like a tree frog.
“Just a word, West.” He leans closer, practically inducing a heart attack. “No need to be afraid of it.”
“I’m not afraid of anything, you condescending ass,” I hiss, tugging my arm from his grip and praying I don’t fall over. To my dismay, he lets me pull out of his hold. I miss his touch as soon as it’s gone, cursing myself even as I curse him.
“I’m an ass, now? Thought I was a bull in heat,” he mocks. “And I gotta say, charming as your elementary, barnyard-animal insults are… I’ve been called worse.”
“Oh, fuck you, Nate. Fuck you, fuck off, go fuck yourself.” I twist my face into the mimicry of a smile and make my voice sweet as pie. “How was that? Was my usage correct? My diction on point? Because, if we’re quite finished here, I have to go do something more interesting. Like alphabetize my entire bookshelf by title, author, and genre. Maybe un-gunk the lint from my car speakers with a toothpick. Oh, or translate the entire works of Tolstoy into Pig-Latin.”
He stares at me for a beat, those dark eyes glittering, that almost-smile playing on his lips. I’m breathing too hard and I tell myself it’s from the anger coursing through my system. Not something else. Something stupid. Like attraction.
“There she is,” he murmurs under his breath, those dark eyes locked on mine. His tone is hushed, amused — almost like he’s talking to himself. About me, rather than to me.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snap, but my anger feels suddenly stretched thin.
There she is. There she is. There she is.
His words beat through my mind like a tribal drum beat.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes are already shuttering away whatever emotion flashed there seconds ago. I glare at him, fully prepared to launch in again and ask why the hell he insists on antagonizing me at every opportunity, but before I can get out another word a voice cuts across the deck like a thunderclap, shattering the moment.
“Phoebe?”
Phey-bee.
“Crap on whole wheat,” I mutter, taking an abrupt step back from Nate and turning to face Cormack, who’s crossing the terrace with a look of concern on his face.
I think I hear Nate curse again, though I don’t know what he could possibly be pissed off about, unless it’s the fact that he can no longer taunt me with Cormack here to witness it.
“You were gone a long time. I thought I’d come check on you,” Cormack tells me, though his eyes are locked on Nate. I can’t help but notice his usual charming smile is nowhere to be found. When he reaches my side, his hand immediately finds the small of my back in that possessive way of his.
I fight the urge to stiffen at his touch, looking anywhere but at Nate.
“Just enjoying the fresh air,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. My eyes lift to Cormack’s. “Thanks for checking.”
He smiles faintly before his gaze shifts back to Nate, who’s crossed his arms over his chest and adopted a seriously intimidating expression. It’s one I’ve never seen before and I immediately dub it his Badass Mercenary look.
Tight mouth, scary eyes, pervasive silence.
So, basically his normal look… on steroids.
To my surprise, Cormack doesn’t turn and run. His spine straightens as he meets Nate’s hard stare, and he shoves a cordial hand into the space between them. Nate stares unmoving at the other man’s hand and, eventually, Cormack drops it and shoves it back into his pants pocket.