“What was it then?”
That vein leaps and jumps on his temple. “It was an attack.”
I blink. “What?”
This time I hear him sigh, long and loud. “Look, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have jerked you around. I shouldn’t have asked you out to dinner. I definitely shouldn’t have kissed you. It was wrong. All of it. Unprofessional. You’re a student in one of my classes. I’m going to tutor you. This isn’t how I behave and I’m not going to behave this way again. I…” Another sigh. “I apologize, all right? Now I want you to forget it and move on. It’s not going to happen again. You have my word on that. We’ll study. I’ll teach you everything you need to know to ace your tests and that’s that. You’re safe with me, okay? I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you.
He says that a lot, doesn’t he?
And if he thinks I’m going to let him leave after that – which he looks ready to do again – then he’s crazy.
I say, loudly and clearly, “I kissed you back.”
“What?”
I thought it would be hard to say it. To say something so intimate.
But it’s not.
It’s strangely freeing.
Even though this isn’t how I envisioned our conversation going. I didn’t imagine he would be so difficult, so resistant.
So prickly. Assholish.
But then, in his own words, he is an asshole. Everyone knows that he’s an asshole.
I realize though that he’s a good kind of asshole.
The kind of asshole that’s one for the right reasons.
That I’m safe with.
Because he’s got me.
Warmth spreads through my chest like it did on that day when I was in his arms, and I say, “Last night. When you kissed me.”
His nostrils flare.
“I kissed you back.”
His gaze goes down to my lips and somehow, I become even more aware of them, as he says, “You had to.”
“I had to?” I ask, staring at his lips then.
“I gave you no choice,” he says, his voice low, rasping, his eyes still on my lips. “When I came at you like that.”
I swallow, remembering the way he came at me. All suddenly and gloriously.
“And I held on to you,” I whisper, still sort of in disbelief that I’m the one saying these things and how fucking amazing it is to say them. “I latched on to you, even. To your shoulders. I could’ve pushed you away.”
He swallows too, his eyes moving from my lips and traveling down. Traveling to my chest, my belly. Traveling all the way to my toes.
“You couldn’t have,” he murmurs.
“Why not?”
His eyes move up and up, past my heaving chest, my mouth, all the way up to my eyes. “I’m stronger than you. More… threatening. More determined.”
My fingers fist at my sides and I wonder why all this sounds so delicious when I know I would’ve taken offense at this if it was someone else.
But it’s him.
Atlas.
The guy who makes me feel safe with his strong arms and threatening size.
“Determined?” I ask.
He licks his lips. “To kiss you.”
I lose my breath for a second. Then, “But I —”
“So you see?” he interrupts me, his eyes grave. “You had to kiss me back. You couldn’t have pushed me away or stopped me in that moment. It was wrong. It was fucking criminal. And it won’t happen again. I won’t let it. So —”
“What would you do if I kissed you?” I ask, interrupting him for a change.
And oh my God, this is the best thing that I’ve said.
Ever. To anyone.
First, it’s his face. All astonished. All gorgeous in his shock.
And then, there’s my heart. My mind even.
All woken up and happy and enthusiastic.
Confident.
So totally confident in the knowledge that if I kissed him, he wouldn’t be able to stop me even with his threatening size. Taking a step toward him, I ask him again, “So? What would you do if I attacked you? Right now.”
“Penelope,” he warns. “Fucking get back.”
Smiling and completely ignoring him, I move my eyes down his body.
He’s wearing a light blue shirt, sleeves folded up to his elbows, the fabric stretched across his broad chest. The light dusting of hair on his forearms looks so delicious, so sexy and masculine. Plus his thighs in those jeans look all taut and muscled.
“When do you even go to the gym?” I murmur, stepping forward and looking back into his eyes, and I realize I missed this last night.
I missed his green eyes going dark.
“What?” he almost snaps, possibly trying to sound angry.
The effect is ruined by the roughness in his voice though.
“How come you’re so built?” I ask, taking another step toward him. “All I’ve ever seen you do is be at the library, studying.”
“You’ve seen me.”
“Yes.” I nod, admitting to low-key watching him. “You always sit by the computers. Right across from those big windows. And you have a very thick leather-bound notebook. And I think you need glasses because you’re always squinting at your books.”