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THIRTY-TWO | MISTAKE
I yanked myself backwards, stumbling in my sudden effort to avoid any and all contact with Cyrus’s lips. The damage was done – they’d touched – but a brush couldn’t be called a kiss, and my momentarily lapse in sense and reason could be forgiven, perhaps, if it was only a brush of lips, and not a kiss.
“Callie,” he murmured, his tone laced with concern. I winced.
“I’m sorry, Cyrus.” I took an uneasy step backwards. “I can’t do this.”
“But you want to.” His voice had warped, the concern twisting into smugness. There was a tiny smile playing about his lips, too, even as his eyes softened with sadness. “I’m sorry for pushing you. I shouldn’t have.”
“This isn’t your fault,” I sighed. His smile dropped.
“I thought you would have let the blame lie wi
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The door opened a crack. As I leant forwards, the sharp nose and hard jaw began to soften. The nose, though perfectly straight, looked less hard-angled as my eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. It was a face composed of balance: a soft, sensually curved upper lip beneath high, arched cheekbones. It was a face that I knew.“Cyrus?” I said, booting open the door and pulling myself up to my full height beside him.“Hi,” he smiled. His eyes, like shadowed pools on a clear day, searched mine tentatively. I gave nothing away.“You hit my car?”His chest puffed up, affronted. “Of course not. Look – it’s utterly unscathed.”“That’s wonderful,” I scowled. The blade in my hand felt hot and conspicuous. As discreetly as I could, I slipped it up and under the sleeve of my jacket.
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