I don’t expect her to understand or know my reasons. Not many people do, apart from Francis. And now that Jack has his sights set on his daughter, I can’t simply walk away.
I already couldn’t get her out of my head, but now…since I held her, I want her so bad that she’s in everything around me.
“This isn’t about Max or your father, is it?” she asks with her brows drawn together. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”
“What look?” I do a bad job at hiding the truth behind my laughter.
“The one you got when Arabella turned up.”
“Arabella and I are friends. We’ve always been friends.” We’ve had this conversation about Bella before, so I add, “We’re only ever going to be friends because, well, she’s getting married and I’m not interested in her in that way.”
She’s not Cassandra Sinclair.
Therein lies the problem lately. I can’t shake her off, and I can’t stand that she’s taking my self-control from me without even knowing it. The thought of her is enough to dry my lips to the point they feel cracked and painful.
I want to taste her. To drink her in.
Shit, this isn’t good.
My eyes dart to the familiar laugh coming from the Rubens room and everything in me screams go!
Run. Get out of here!
“I really don’t understand why you like this room so much.”
“It’s not the room, dipshit.” Laughing, Cassandra looks away from her friend—the one that was at the party last month—and stares up at the painting depicting a drunken Silenus being supported by Satyrs. “It’s the colours. They’re rich and stark next to one another, but the way he uses light and shadow in the same rich tones to blend it all, it’s beautiful and—”
“Stop looking at it like that, I’m getting a little worried. That’s not even Rubens.”
“Van Dyck was greatly influenced by him, though.” The way Cassie rolls her eyes is cute enough that it has me kneading my lip between my teeth. She’s just so fucking gorgeous that in a room full of masterpieces, she outdoes them all. “Some people think that Rubens reworked the painting.”
“After it was ripped off from his own.”
“Actually, it’s called a transposition.” Cassandra sticks her tongue out at her friend.
For a moment I can’t catch my breath, her smile and her laugh are like the best kind of music. Even from a distance they have the ability to make the world fade around me.
Unable to look away, I take in the way her hair is bunched at her crown in a long, thick ponytail that has me bunching my hands at my sides. I want to know what those strands would feel like running through my fingers or wrapped around my fist. What they would feel like cutting into my skin.
I slip my hands in the back pockets of my black jeans and look up to find my mother glancing between me and Cassie. And I wonder if she’s figured out why I’ve come to see her at work lately.
Mum grabs onto the lapels of my leather jacket as she looks up at me scornfully, “Of all the girls in this world. Leo! Why her?”
“Her?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. I’m your mother, I know a crush when I see one.” She slaps her hand on my chest and then bunches the hoodie I’m wearing underneath in her fist. “She’s dangerous.”
“I know.” I’m fully aware of all the things Cassie represents, but still…
The girl is a Buttercup, beautiful to look at but poisonous when it gets inside you.
I feel her poison spread already, in my chest…my head…everywhere.
I need to get her out of my system, to flush her out. Somehow. I need to do it before it’s too late.
I know that, but I don’t know if I can. Or if I want to.
“I’m going to let you get back to work.” Kissing my mother’s forehead, I try to pacify her worry.