Oliver’s brows creased in confusion. Then his expression slackened in shock. His green eyes searched mine, and he pressed his lips together. Something unreadable sparked in his eyes, and he drew closer to me again.
“Why would you care?” he asked.
My lip trembled, and I bit down on it. I backed away from him. “I don’t,” I snapped, but my voice faltered, betraying me.
“You said yourself you have a—what was it? Boyfriend?” Oliver smirked and stepped closer. “You have an understanding with another man. So it shouldn’t matter what exists between me and Elena.”
“It doesn’t.” I took another step back. My palms stretched out behind me and met concrete.
Oliver drew even closer, pushing me against the wall of the building behind us. “I think it does,” he whispered. His eyes smoldered as he leaned closer to me. His outdoorsy gunpowder smell overwhelmed me, and his sweet breath blew against my forehead.
Ragged breaths tore through my chest. I pressed my back against the wall, but I had nowhere else to go.
“What would your boyfriend think?” he asked, the corner of his lips pulling up in another disarming smile.
“No, I—we—he wouldn’t care,” I said softly, my voice hollow. I wasn’t sure how he always managed to pull the truth out of me. “That’s why I’m with him. Because he doesn’t care. And neither do I. There’s no risk. I—we—we aren’t exclusive. He’s probably seeing other girls right now.” I thought of how he would react when I didn’t show up in Miami. He probably wouldn’t even call to check on me. I could imagine him drinking, partying, and flirting with other girls, and I felt nothing. No remorse, no jealousy, no anger. Nothing.
But that was safe. It was what I wanted.
Oliver, however, was anything but safe. When I looked at him, I was freefalling through the sky—falling to my death, to uncertainty, and to danger.
I hated it. And I loved it.
Oliver clenched his teeth, his eyes flashing with anger. “The bastard.”
I shook my head. “No, he’s not. We agreed on it. I don’t—I don’t care about him. Not like that.”
“Not like what?” Oliver’s voice was low and husky. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard in my life.
My shoulders and chest heaved like I was running a marathon. I shouldn’t have said that. “Nothing,” I said quickly.
Oliver inched toward me until his chest almost rested against mine. My back pressed into the wall behind me. Heat swarmed in my chest, and suddenly I found I didn’t want to escape from him. I wanted him to draw closer to me. To touch me.
“For your information,” Oliver said quietly, “I don’t care about Elena like that either. She kissed me as a goodbye. She didn’t know if we would survive, and I wasn’t going to push her away in front of all those people. I’ve told her of my feelings. She understands.”
I nodded, dazed. Relief—stupid, ridiculous relief—spread through me. “Okay.” The word came out shaky and feeble. I wasn’t sure what else to say.
Oliver’s lips quirked up in a devastating half smile, like he could see right through me. He knew I cared. And he knew why. His eyes crinkled, and bursts of light brown swam within the green of his eyes. It took my breath away as I lost myself in the mixture of colors.
Desire emanated from his eyes as they darted to my mouth and lingered there. My insides churned and then exploded like a volcano, the hot lava coursing through me with intensity and heat that wasn’t unpleasant—but it was powerful.
And frightening.
My quick breaths caught on my throat. I sounded like I was hyperventilating.
Oliver’s eyes were still on my mouth. I licked my lips and pressed them together. I knew what he was thinking.
“There you are!” a nearby voice shouted.
My heart slammed into my throat, the painful shock bringing panicked breaths and a roaring heartbeat that was louder than the surrounding gunfire. Eyes wide, I searched for the interruption and found Ramón rushing toward us, his thick eyebrows lowered in frustration.
Oliver stepped back but only slightly; it was casual and subtle, unlike the blatant look of terror on my face and the obvious tilt of my body away from his.
“What took you so long?” Ramón grumbled as he jerked his head toward the way he’d come. He glanced between us, eyes narrowed, but he didn’t ask any other questions. He waved a muscular arm to usher us forward.
Flames ignited in my cheeks. Avoiding Oliver’s gaze, I strode forward, eager to escape the hot uncertainty of whatever almost happened between us.
Chapter 18
RAMÓN LED US DOWN THE narrow street, and Oliver and I followed in silence. Dozens of concrete shops and buildings were crammed on top of and next to each other, some with iron balconies and others with faded signs that creaked with the mild wind in the air. We passed an abandoned wagon that looked like it belonged to some peddler—with trinkets, charms, and other colorful souvenir-looking knickknacks.
Gradually, the fire within me subsided, and my heart rate returned to normal. I’d been so silly and idiotic. Soldiers were attacking the city. People were dying right now. And all I’d been thinking about was if Oliver had been about to kiss me.
I’m such a moron. A stupid, selfish moron.
We approached the familiar strip of rusty, dilapidated buildings and drew closer to the enchanted red door. More gunfire exploded around us, and I realized how real this was. Once we passed through the door, we wouldn’t be safe from the siege. We would be stepping from one battle into another.
Ramón turned to face us. “You should cast a protection charm first.”
Reluctantly, I looked at Oliver. His eyes still burned with desire, but his expression sobered.
“Can you do this one?” he asked. “I’m a little drained from the last few.”
I swallowed. “Yeah. Sure.”
Unease spread through me.
