Fireworks In My Heart
He notices—of course, he notices.
“See?” he murmurs, his voice a velvet promise of ruin. “You don’t hate me, Liana.” His lips barely ghost over the shell of my ear. “You hate how much you want me.”
A frustrated noise escapes me, but I refuse to let him win. “Who is Alina?”
He exhales sharply, a quiet laugh that is anything but amused. Then he leans in so close that his lips nearly press against mine.
“Alina,” he breathes, dragging the name out in a way that sends ice through my veins. “She was someone who thought she could own me.”