004

ZARA

     I spend the rest of the drive trying not to look at Ramsey. This would be easier if I weren't practically glued to him even after that kiss.

My face catches fire all over again.

I turn towards the window. Rain streaks across the glass, smearing Greyhaven into wet lights and dark buildings.

"Strawberry?" Ramsey asks.

"What?"

"Your lip gloss."

Very slowly, I turn. He's watching my mouth.

"What flavour?" he says.

From the driver's seat, Milo's shoulders rise towards his ears.

"Why?" I whisper, stunned.

Ramsey runs his tongue across his bottom lip, as if he's still chasing the taste. "I like it."

Heat floods me so fast it feels like a full-body flush. It starts at the base of my throat, races down my chest, and settles heavy between my legs. My thighs press together instinctively.

"Your son is right there."

"I'm trying very hard not to be," Milo mutters.

"Milo," Ramsey says.

"I am driving. Unfortunately, my ears are passengers."

A laugh nearly bursts out of me.

"It's cherry," I mutter.

Ramsey's mouth twitches. Why am I flirting with him?

My mother was buried today. Someone tried to kill me. My former stepfather is apparently a werewolf, and I'm blushing because he likes my lip gloss. My brain needs to pick a fucking disaster.

The SUV turns through tall iron gates.

I haven't been to Ramsey's house in five years, but I recognize the stone driveway and enormous windows glowing between the pines. Mum never wanted to live here. She always insisted on staying in the old house she'd inherited from her mother. Now she's gone.

The SUV stops.

"Before anybody carries me against my will again, I'd like to walk," I announce.

Ramsey opens his door. "Fine."

Well. That was suspiciously easy. I step out after he gets out and opens my door. Pain immediately hooks beneath my ribs.

Ramsey grabs the side of the SUV. His head drops, and I freeze.

"Ramsey?"

His fingers tighten against the metal. Holy shit.

"You feel it too,” I gasp.

For some stupid reason, I'd thought this was only happening to me.

I step farther away. Pain punches through my stomach.

At the same moment Ramsey growls, "Fuck."

His knees hit the wet driveway.

"Ramsey!"

I run back. The second my hands grab his shoulders, relief rushes through me.

Ramsey's arms close around my waist. He's kneeling in the rain with his face against my chest, breathing hard. I'm holding the back of his head.

Milo stares at us, his mouth agape.

"This," he says slowly, "feels like something Rourke should be dealing with."

Everything hits me at once. My chest tightens.

"I can't do this," I croak."

Ramsey is standing before I realize he's moved. "Redbird."

"I need a shower." My voice cracks. "And clothes. A-and suitcase."

"Milo will get it."

"I can get my own—"

My voice breaks completely, and Ramsey's expression softens.

"I buried Mum today." My eyes well up with tears. "She called me on Tuesday, Ramsey. I thought I'd call tomorrow, and then there wasn't a fucking tomorrow."

An ugly sob tears out of me. Ramsey pulls me against him. This time I don't fight.

"I didn't call her. She probably thought I hated her."

"She didn't." His arm tightens. "Melissa always talked about you."

That ruins me. I bury my face against his chest and cry until my head hurts, his hand moving slowly over my back.

Eventually Milo clears his throat. "I might have an idea."

I don't lift my head.

"If the bond is reacting to separation, scent might help. Something of Dad's for you and something of yours for him."

I sniff. "You're suggesting we exchange laundry."

"Basically."

Ramsey looks down at me. His thumb catches another tear. I slap his hand away, and his lips curl.

Asshole.

...

Milo's stupid idea works. Sort of. Ramsey gives me the sweater he wore before the funeral. I give him the scarf I left in Imani's car.

With his sweater clutched against me, I make it upstairs without feeling like my organs are trying to follow him.

Which is how I end up in Ramsey Lakewood's bathroom looking like I've escaped a psychiatric facility.

My mascara has migrated south. My hair is wet, and my lips are swollen. I stare at them and slap both hands over my face.

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?"

Ramsey kissed me. Ramsey wanted to kiss me. And I kissed him back.

"Fuck."

I turn on the shower. Hot water hits my shoulders, and for several minutes I stand beneath it with my forehead against the tile.

I cry a little more. Then I get angry at everyone and everything.

By the time I turn off the water, I've made one decision. I'm not running from Ramsey again.

My phone lights up on the counter as I grab the sweater from the hanger. There's a new text waiting.

[DON'T TRUST RAMSEY.]

I stare at it and type:

[Who are you?]

The message shows 'delivered'. Nothing else comes. Great.

I look at my reflection again. "Fine."

If everybody wants to play games, we can play.

...

My suitcase arrives twenty minutes later. I choose my dress with malicious intent.

The black dress is soft and short, fitted through my waist and hips, with thin straps and a low back. Most of the compass tattoo running down my spine is exposed.

Petty? Maybe.

Do I care? Not even in the slightest.

I leave my long red hair loose. Then I carry Ramsey's sweater downstairs over one arm. I smell food before I reach the dining room.

Something warm and spicy. My stomach growls.

I round the corner. And stop. Ramsey is sitting at the long dining table. Alone.

His sleeves are rolled to his elbows. The torn funeral shirt is gone, replaced by black trousers and a navy V-neck sweater. My scarf is wrapped around his right wrist.

A cigarette burns lazily between his fingers. He looks up and my pulse jumps.

He takes a drag from his cigarette, still looking. Down the column of my throat, across the thin straps of the dress, lingering on the soft swell of my breasts, the curve of my waist, and the bare stretch of my thighs.

I bite my lower lip.

Ramsey exhales smoke away from me. "Feel better?"

The bastard.

"Much."

His gaze drops again. I walk towards the table because turning around would be cowardice. Then I notice the food. My steps slow.

Spicy chicken soup and rice. Just the way I like it.

I look at him. "You remembered."

Ramsey taps ash into the tray. "You think five years gave me amnesia?"

A pang unfurls in my chest.

Hesitantly, I sit opposite him. The sweater remains over my lap.

Ramsey watches me pick up my spoon. I take one slurp and nearly moan.

I hadn't realized how hungry I was. I take another spoonful and catch him still watching, eyes half-lidded, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

I swallow. "Could you stop?"

"No."

My spoon pauses mid-air.

"You're not even going to ask what?"

"I know what."

Heat creeps up my neck and settles low in my stomach. I take another bite purely to give myself something to do. His gaze moves over me again, shamelessly.

I put my spoon down. "What happened to you?"

One eyebrow lifts.

"You were never like this."

"Like what?"

I gesture at him. "This. You know exactly what I mean."

"I'd like to hear you say it."

Of course he would.

I narrow my eyes. "Five years ago, you barely looked at me."

Ramsey takes another slow drag. For the first time tonight, he stops looking at my body. His eyes settle on mine. The silver in them is almost gone, but something hungrier has taken its place.

He leans back in his chair, the wood creaking softly.

"Go on, Redbird."

"Go on, what?"

"Ask,” he says.

The room suddenly feels quieter. He watches me over the faint curl of smoke, completely still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"What do you want to know?"