A bad thing indeed.
Her tremors of panic were well-remembered as were her tears that I’d caused. Scarlett Avery wasn’t as simple a diagnosis as I’d thought when we first met. I thought she was a common cold, easily snuffed out and named. The death of her brother made her not so straightforward as the symptoms of her panic and masochism were proof of.
I wasn’t thinking of her when I took her on that plane. I was only thinking of myself and getting away from her as fast as possible and back to my routine. Whatever Scarlett was was infectious, and I wanted away from her and her sickness.
The way she was staring at me laid on the guilt thick, a suffocating layer of nasty emotions. My resolve was waning beneath the pressure of her eyes, and the slap of remembrance from when they were tear-filled and begging for relief from the torment I’d unleashed on her.
Scarlett must have sensed the oncoming collapse of my stance because she dared closer, polluting her lavender sickness through my senses and fritzing their wires.
“Five hours. Max.”
Fuuuuuuuuuck.
“Two,” I countered.
The grin that dressed Scarlett’s mouth was so wicked, I should have known trouble wasn’t far behind it.
“Deal.”