For me.
Those eyes aren’t looking anywhere else except me. He’s holding my shoulders. He’s steadying me. He’s running his thumbs over my skin just the way I like. It should ground and comfort me. It should do exactly what I want it to do.
But it doesn’t. I’m past the point of no return.
He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “What’s wrong?”
My lips quiver. “You.”
His brows shudder together. Aside from that faint twitch, his features remain stern.
I grab his wrists. “No matter what happens, I’m always going to come second.”
“That’s not true, Liya.”
“Don’t.” I fling his hands away from me. Don’t tell me what is and isn’t true. Since the beginning, I’ve been nothing but a—” I tremble while stepping away from him. “I’m just a convenience for you. I’m just a clever mouth that can give you ideas and blowjobs when it suits you.”
He shakes his head, his brows relaxing to reveal the concern beneath. It’s really there, but I’m not convinced. How can he possibly care about me when his actions say otherwise?
I hold my hands up. A warning?
Or surrender?
He advances. “Liya, please.”
And then, it hits me. The mother of all realizations. A string of days full of actions that led right to this moment. From him. From me.
I blink away tears. “No wonder you told me to go to Weill Cornell.” I glare at him. “You wanted me out of the way.”
He shakes his head. “I wanted you to pursue your dreams.”
“It’s so convenient for you that it just happens to get me out of the house, right?”
“Liya, where is this coming from? What’s gotten into you?”
I shove his chest. “Stay away from me.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“You don’t care.”
He wraps his arms around me, pinning my hands to my sides. I struggle, but it’s more a useless attempt at this point. I know he’s stronger than me. I know he’ll win.
He always wins.
Because I’m utterly helpless to his influence.
I’m wide-eyed with alarm yet shivering from mixed signals of arousal. His scent, his proximity, his eyes—all those things contribute to my sex aching with want. Yet at the same time, the things that excite me—his strength, his demeanor, his tone—frighten me.
I know who he is. I knowwhathe is. Pretty words can’t hide that from me.
He presses his cheek to my cheek. “Liya.”
“No.”
“Think about the baby.”
My resolve weakens. I’m limp in his arms, struggling to keep upright while trying to slide out of his grip at the same time. I’m confused. I’m upset. I’m completely exhausted.