But then his expression softens to one of pure sorrow. “Right.”
Footsteps wander past the bedroom door. I lift my head, worry striking my features as Tomas rests a hand on my upper arm.
“It’s just security,” he says. “Dad’s been paranoid about the recent string of deaths.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
He shakes his head, urging me closer to his chest. “You should up your security, Alex.”
“Mom has someone keeping an eye on me…” I pause for a second as I exhale. “Not like it’s helped at all.”
“What do you mean?”
My glare must not register. Doesn’t he realize what he and the other guys have done to me? Even though he looks curious, I ignore his inquiry and stroke his chin. “Tommy, do you have a joint? I need to take the edge off.”
“You don’t need a joint.”
“Yes, I do. Especially after watching your mother announce to the VIP room about my father’s bastard children.”
He exhales slowly as a shiver runs through him. “No. You need to stay sober if you want to survive in Macedon.”
“It’s not like I’m your mother.”
“You’re coming dangerously close, doll.”
My vision tunnels with anger as I snap my hand back from his face. “You just told me in the car that—”
“Well, I fucking take it back.”
“That’s fucking confusing, Tommy.”
His eyelids flutter and his hand snakes around my waist, pressing into my lower back. The motion is quick and sure despite the fact that we’re currently at odds with each other—and I sort of love it. He tugs my blouse out of the back of my skirt and spreads his fingers over my spine. It’s not at all sexual, yet it elicits the same twitching response in my slit.
I gulp as I remember that Adelaide is right behind him.
The tip of his nose meets my cheek, and a shuddering breath dusts over my skin. Within seconds, my racing heart slows, steadying to its usual rhythm when I realize he’s not trying to reach into my panties. “Tommy, why are you even worried?”
“Is it so hard to believe I care about what happens to you?”
“I just don’t get it.”
His hand presses firmly into my back and smashes my face into his chest. The urgency in his touch alarms me as much as it fascinates me. It’s the pool house bathroom again. It’s the way he clung to me in my bed afterward. It’s in the way he strokes my hair while his fingers continue tracing the divots of my spine.
“Baby, you don’t have to get it,” he whispers. “You just have to accept it.”
“What if I don’t want to accept it?”
He chortles while kissing my forehead. “Sounds like you just want to fight.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I’ll fucking fight you.”
I nuzzle my nose into his shirt, inhaling the incense that sticks to his skin. How many showers does it take to wash the scent out? And how can I prevent him from doing that? “Really?”
“It sounds like it turns you on, so yeah. I’ll do it.”
I laugh, the sound lost in the thick hoodie guarding his shoulders. “You’re weird.”