20

Scarlett Mila Marino

[A week later]

I can't look at him.

It feels suffocating. I can't focus. My mind is elsewhere, wrapped up in thoughts I shouldn't be having. I've had dreams. A lot of them. About him.

Thoughts about Rowan.

So I train. Every day I'm at the training hall wanting to forget. Forget about him, even for just a second.

I've been trying to avoid him, taking different routes through the hall, sitting further away during training, because being around him after everything feels dangerous. Wrong.

It's not just that I can still feel his hands on me. It's the heat of his body pressed against mine at the ball. It's how it made me feel, how much I want to do it, how much I still want it, and I shouldn't.

He is... Rowan. He's never been more than an enemy. But now... Now, I don't know what to think. The way he touched me, the way my body responded. It's all wrong.

I glance at Rowan from across the hall. His eyes are sharp, but I know if I catch his eye for even a second, he'll feel it, that pull, that invisible string between us that's been stretching too tight.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead, grab my water bottle and make my way to the back of a hall. Where I can take a break, far away from him. I just need some air, a moment to clear my head.

I walk to the storage rooms, a place where I can disappear for a few minutes, without anyone noticing.

But before I can make it far, I feel a presence behind me. I know it's him before I even turn around. My pulse quickens, a mix of dread and something I can't name, rushing through me.

"Are you avoiding me, Mila?" Rowan's voice cuts through the silence, low and quiet but leased with something sharp.

I freeze my back still to him. I take a breath, trying to steady myself before I turn to face him. When I do, he's standing there, close enough that I can see the tension in the shoulders, the intensity in his eyes. He's waiting for an answer.

"I'm not avoiding you." I lie, my voice sounding too thin, to unconvincing.

Rowan tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as he studies me. "Right." He says, the corner of his mouth twitching, like he doesn't believe a word I just said. "Then why are you running away from me?"

I swallow hard, the tension between us thick and suffocating in this narrow hallway. He takes a step closer, and I instinctively back up. The cool wall hits my back, my heart pounding in my chest. And I don't know if it is from fear, guilt, or the way his presence seem to wrap around me, making it impossible to think straight.

"I have just been busy." I try again, but the words sound weak, even to me.

My eyes flick away from his, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

Rowan doesn't say anything for a moment, but I can feel his eyes on me, heavy and searching. He steps closer again, and this time, I don't move back. I can't. I wish I could go through walls, because now would be a perfect time to do so.

"Talk to me, what's going on?" His voice is softer now, more careful, like he's trying to break through whatever wall I've built between us.

I can't breathe. I don't know how to explain what's going on without admitting what I've been trying so hard to deny. That I can't stop thinking about him, that every time I see him, I feel the ghost of his touch on my skin. But I'm terrified, of what I might want, what I might do, if we end up alone again.

Without a word, he steps even closer. His hands go to my waist. My breath hitches as his fingers presses lightly, sending a rush of heat through me.

I should pull away. I should say something, but I don't. I can't.

His breath is warm against my neck, and I shiver, the sensation making my skin tingle. One of his hands starts to slide lower, skimming the curve of my hip, his touch dangerously close to places he shouldn't be touching. A soft sound escapes me, something between a gasp and a sigh. But I don't stop him. I don't want to.

This is new, uncharted territory for us. We have never crossed the line. But this? This is definitely crossing it.

His fingers brush against the waistband of my pants, and my breath hitches again, flush spreading across my skin.

His lips brush against the shell of my ear, his breath hot as he whispers, "Is this why you won't talk to me, Mila?"

My mind goes blank for a second. My body betraying me as I lean back into him, craving the warmth of his touch. It feels good, to good.

But then deep down there is that nagging. What does he want?

What is this for him? Is he just playing with me, testing how far he can push before I break? Or does he feel what I'm feeling?

I bite my lip, unsure of how to answer him, and unsure of how I'm even supposed to feel in this moment. My body is on fire, every nerve alive under his hands. But my heart is confused, torn between the pull of desire, and the fear of what this could mean.

Rowan's hand dip further, fingers grazing places I know we shouldn't be touching, not like this. My breath catches again and I hear myself let out a soft moan. It's like I've lost control, like my body is making decisions before my mind can catch up.

But then, just as quickly as it started, he stops.

He pulls his hand away, stepping back so fast, that the sudden absence of his warmth leaves me feeling cold. Exposed.

"I shouldn't have done that." He mutters. His voice is rough.

He looks away, raking a hand through his hair. "This is not what you want Scarlett." He says.

The air between us feel thick, charged with everything that almost happened. I can't even think straight can't make sense of the way my body is still humming from his touch. Or the way my heart feels like it's caught in a tug-of-war between wanting him, and not understanding what any of this means.

"Why did you?" I manage to ask my voice sounding smaller than I intended.

He meets my gaze for a split second, but there's something raw in his eyes, something that looks almost like regret. "I don't know." he says quietly shaking his head. "But if I keep going, you'll regret it."

I open my mouth to argue, to say that I'm not sure I would. But before I can say anything he steps back further, putting more distance between us.

"I'm sorry." he whispers, and then he's gone. His footsteps feeding into the shadows.

What the fuck is happening to me.

The memory of his touch lingers burning against my skin, and I know one thing for sure whatever this is between us, it's far from over.

How are we feeling? I loved writing this chapter.