Dateless by Emily Evans

Author:Emily Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emily Evans
Published: 2018-12-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Wythe put his strong arm around my waist, pulling me off the weight bench to the floor. “Are you mad?”

A little. I was standing close to him, the lit cinnamon candle clutched to my chest.

A team of guards rushed the room. The lead guy shoved his fingertips into his palm. “Move. Move. Move.”

I blew out the incriminating wick and grabbed Wythe’s arm, so he wouldn’t let me go as the guards encircled us. “We are not done.”

“Yet.”

That hurt. But it wasn’t a total immediate rejection. I’d take it. We started the slow jog from the room toward the bunker. He’d have to talk to me now because we were about to be shut into the panic room together. Unless he was horribly put out at how I’d gotten him there. Which he could be. I would be. Maybe this was not the best idea. My stomach tightened. But at least we were together. Maybe this was my best idea. I was fighting for him. Because hiding my emotions hadn’t always gotten me what I wanted. Today, I was getting what I wanted. I was fighting for us. Not sitting back and giving up like I did at home. There must have been some point when we were little that I’d just given up and let Felicity get her way because struggling against how unfair being a twin was had rarely gotten me anywhere. I wasn’t rolling over today.

We were running now, and my mind was spinning. This run didn’t hold the terror or confusion of the first time, and I was trying to get my brain to come up with a solution to this problem. My brain tossed new ideas out with each step. We went through the same corridors, down the same stairs, and then the same door sealed us into the same dark room.

I felt my way to the couch and sank down.

The couch cushion shifted with his weight as he joined me. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his presence, smell the scent of the shower gel he’d used and the lingering cinnamon candle. It was inappropriate and wrong, but I wanted to finish our kiss. To make up with him with a kiss. That’s what hit me there in the cinnamon-scented dark. On the couch.

I wanted to kiss him again. Taste him again. Even mad at him. Especially mad at him. I wanted to turn all this inner energy out, to expend it. The fluorescent lights kicked on, making me blink.

Wythe was beside me, scowling. Yeah. The darkness hadn’t brought out romance in him. He wasn’t totally into this. At least, not yet. Wythe sat with his legs spread, his hands clasped between them. “Was this political? Some motive I’m not seeing?”

That was a mood killer. “I don’t have an opinion on U.K. politics.” I guess maybe I should’ve, now that I was living here, but I didn’t follow them. There were enough to follow back home. With decisions that affected me.

“I don’t have that luxury.

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