Wanted (Most Wanted 1)

"You know what?" I finally said. "It doesn't matter. He's gone. And as far as I can tell, you're gone, too." I cocked my head as if just remembering something. "Oh, did I say gone? Not really the best choice of words, since you shouldn't have even been in my life in the first place. After all, it was just one big mistake. Right?"

He said nothing, but I saw the way his jaw tightened, as if he were digging in, preparing to stand his ground.

I felt tears prick my eyes and hated myself for it. "Damn you, Evan Black." I leaned over to push the elevator call button, but he grabbed my hand, stopping me.

I looked down at where he held my wrist. "Careful, I might break." I met his eyes. "That's what you think I am, right? Some fragile porcelain princess? That you'd shock me with all those things you said? That you'd break me if we went too far?"

"Angie." The regret in his voice curled through me, and I clutched tighter to my anger, holding it close to give me strength.

"No, don't even. You saw the way I melted down, and after you went too far comforting me, you ran for your goddamn life. Well, you know what, Evan, you're an idiot. You can't break me. I'm already broken." What I didn't say was that I was afraid that he was the only one who could put me back together. He was certainly the only one who'd ever made me feel whole.

"You think I see you as fragile? You think I don't want you? Do you have any idea how hard it was to sit in that room just now and not touch you? It was hard enough before the other night, but Jesus, to come as close as we did, and then back it off? It's like trying to turn the goddamn Titanic, and I feel like I've crashed into a fucking iceberg."

I gaped at him, my heard pounding, my skin prickling. He was saying things I thought I wanted to hear, but I was afraid to hope, and so I only stood there, silently begging him to continue.

"Do you want to hear me say that I look at you and I go weak? That I want to taste you and touch you? That I want to break you and see you shatter beneath me? Dammit, Angie, is that what you want to hear?"

Yes, dear God, yes.

I was screaming the words inside my head, but outside I was too shocked, too amazed, too damn aroused to say anything at all. It didn't matter. As always, Evan understood me.

His face softened, the vibrancy fading to a passionate glow. "I'm telling you now, because we both need to hear it. I want you, Angelina. I've wanted you since the first moment I saw you. Wanted your fire, and that haunted look in your eyes. Wanted you to look at me the way that you do. For years, I've wanted to lose myself in you. Wanted to break you open and see the woman inside."

"You could," I whispered, though I'm not sure how I managed to find my voice. "I think you're the only one who could shatter me."

"Maybe." He reached out as if to touch me, but his hand only stroked the air above my skin, as if he was warming himself in my heat, or as if he was afraid that if he lowered his hand those few millimeters to actually make contact, that we would both burst into flames right then.

He may not have touched me, but he might as well have, and when he pulled his hand away, I heard myself whimper.

Slowly, he thrust his hands into his pockets. "I can live with the things I've done," he said. "After all, I can't be anyone other than the man I am--the man walking the path I made. But we all have a code, baby. And how can I break my own code and still live with myself?"

I realized I was shaking my head in protest. "Fuck your code," I said, but I spoke gently, my tone in sharp contrast to my words. And then, emboldened, I leaned forward and brushed my lips over his mouth.

I heard his moan. I felt his hands close over my shoulders. I felt the hard knot of passion growing in my belly, the sweet tingling sensation growing between my thighs.

And then, more keenly, I felt him gently push me away.

"Don't do this," he said. "Don't tempt me."

"Maybe I want to tempt you."

"I'm not the man you want."

"You are," I said earnestly.

"Maybe. But I'm not the man you need."

I flinched, because he was so very wrong. He just might be the only man I need.

"How do you know what I need?" I demanded. "Because you made a promise to a dead man?"

I saw him wince, and I pounced, sensing weakness. "Do you think I don't understand why you're turning away from me? I loved him, too, but he's not here. And even if he were, he's not in charge of us."

I waited for Evan to say something. To pull me in his arms. To tell me I was an idiot. To just plain turn and walk away from me.

But he said nothing. He did nothing.

And my temper flared.

"You know what? Fuck you, Evan Black."

I reached over and pushed the button to call the elevator. This time, he didn't stop me.

"Fuck you," I repeated.

I stood, vibrating with anger as I waited. Finally, the doors opened, and I started to step onto the car. I stopped when his fingers closed around my upper arm.

I didn't turn.

"It's for the best," he said, his voice so low I could barely hear him. "Your uncle was right. I'm not a safe bet."

I waited one beat, then another. Then I shook my arm free, stepped onto the elevator, and didn't look back.

eleven

I needed to get lost. Needed to get free. My head was swimming with everything that was going on around me--Jahn, my parents, Kevin. And Evan. At the center of it all, there was always Evan. His proximity. His desire. His heat.

His rejection.

I felt as if my mind--hell, as if my life--was trying to tune in to a particular frequency and all it could find was static. As if I was bouncing around lost in the stratosphere with no rope, no guide, to bring me back down to where I belonged.

I was anxious and frantic and needy and confused. I needed release even as much as I needed an anchor. I needed to appease the demons. I needed--

Oh, hell, I didn't know what I needed. But I knew that whatever it was, adrenaline would soothe it. If I could just manufacture that wild rush of sensation, then maybe all this static in my head would go away. Maybe I could get clear. Maybe I could think.

Because I damn sure wasn't thinking right then. Not as I barreled down the streets, pushing past other pedestrians, ignoring crossing signals, and letting my feet eat up the pavement.

And I wasn't thinking when I wandered into department stores. When I let my fingers trail idly over blouses, over jeans, over purses and samples of cologne.

But as I wandered--as my mind started to focus on the ways that I could manufacture that singular sensation that would restore my clarity and help me find my center--that was when my surroundings took focus. That was when I started to realize where I was and what I could do.

What I needed to do if I wanted to get clear.

Department store.

Jewelry.

Do it.

I felt the tingle in my palms and the quickening beat of my heart.

It would be so easy. So fast, so clean.

So perfect.

I mean, sure. Maybe I'd messed up before. But that didn't mean this would go wrong. This time, maybe everything would come together. Maybe this time, the rush would be enough to pull me through. Hell, maybe it would even last until I got to Washington.

And then--well, then, I'd just have to learn to keep myself in check. Because I'd be a different girl then. A different me. A new Angie altogether.

Just do it.

I sucked in air, willing myself to take it down a notch. I was just a girl. Just a shopper. I was just looking around, just letting my fingers dance over the countertops, the displays. I picked up a pair of earrings, then held them up as I inspected my image in mirror.

I put them back, unimpressed.

I picked up a pair of sunglasses and returned them, too, equally unimpressed.

I was alone, unobserved, and when I picked up the bracelets, then moved to casually drop them into my purse, I was certain that no one would see me.

Don't.

> The voice in my head was bold and assertive, but I wasn't even certain I'd heard it.