Free Kill Me Softly by Sarah Cross Page B

blurted:
    â€œOr I could stay here.”
    Her heart seemed to hammer twenty times before he spoke, beating: stupid stupid stupid stupid . …
    â€œYou want to stay here?” Felix gave her an odd look, surprised. Pleasantly surprised? Did he want her to stay? Did she want him to want her to stay?
    His eyes on hers made her dizzy.
    â€œAll right,” he said finally, his expression unreadable. “Let me kick my brother out.”
    When Felix left, he shut the bedroom door, and Mira perched on the edge of the bed with her legs drawn up, wondering what he expected to happen, what she wanted to happen. Part of her knew she was asking for trouble if she stayed. The rest of her wanted to know what trouble was like.
    A few minutes passed, during which she heard the brothers arguing in low, angry voices—but she couldn’t make out the words. Something made of glass crashed, shattered. She heard a thud against the wall and flinched. Then Blue’s voice came through the door, so close it was like a hand on her shoulder. “Mira, don’t stay.”
    She didn’t answer.
    â€œMira …”
    And after another moment, she heard Blue cursing. She heard the hall door slam.
    And then she and Felix were alone.
    Felix emerged from the bathroom in a fog of steam, wearing black pajama pants, his hair still wet, a towel thrown over his shoulders. Tonight, for the first time, she saw his body, lines of lean muscle his clothes had only hinted at; and she stared at him like he was a picture, wondering what it would be like to touch him—and wishing she was wearing a sexy nightgown, instead of pajamas that looked like gym clothes.
    He turned down the bed, yanking the coverlet off and letting it fall to the floor, while she stood awkwardly beside him in her T-shirt and girly boxers.
    â€œI could sleep on the couch,” she offered. “If you want.”
    He gave her a look like he didn’t take her seriously. “You really want to sleep on the couch?”
    â€œNo,” she admitted.
    She hesitated—then climbed into bed.
    She didn’t want to sleep on the couch. She didn’t know what she wanted—that was the problem—and she wasn’t sure she’d know until it was too late. But maybe this was why she’d come alone to Beau Rivage. Maybe she was meant to discover something about herself. To grow up. Wake up.
    When she was with Felix, she didn’t lose herself in daydreams. She wanted things that were real.
    The light clicked off. She could feel the mattress sinking under his weight, the sheets being tugged as he came closer. She lifted a hand to feel for where he was, and her hand found his bare chest and slipped over the muscles there, enjoying the feel of him before she turned self-conscious and stopped. He was leaning over her, the heat of his body warming the air between them.
    â€œHi,” he said. There was a smile in his voice.
    Her hand lay frozen against his chest. She’d never felt so tense.
    â€œDon’t be nervous.”
    â€œI’m not,” she lied, wanting him to make a move so she could reject it or accept it … and stop waiting for something to happen, wondering what it might be. His hand settled on her hip, familiar, and she stalled, nervous about what else might seem natural to him, but be monumental to her.
    â€œFelix,” she started, “why does your brother hate you so much?”
    He sounded amused. “Did he say that?”
    â€œNot exactly. He just … he says a lot of bad things about you. Like that I should stay away from you.”
    â€œOf course he does. I’d tell you the same things about him if I thought you were interested. You have to be used to guys fighting over you.”
    â€œFighting?” She laughed. “Um, no. That doesn’t happen.”
    His hand on her hip felt so heavy—she could barely pay attention to anything else. He was stroking her skin, kneading her hip,