Renna Rose Lancaster never searched for love.
She stumbled into it long before she was old enough to know what to call it.
It lived inside flower crowns that barely survived a minute on his head. Pebbles he slipped into her pockets because every tre...
"He wasn't mine and I wasn't his. But he was so good at making me feel like we belonged to each other."
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The nylon of Aadam’s windbreaker hissed as he dragged his sleeves downward. The morning crowd crowding the gates was already wearing down his legendary patience, but my choice of clothing was his breaking point.
Without warning, he dropped to his knees in front of me. He didn't give a shit that his pristine, dark denim was soaking up the grime of the pavement. He just looped the sleeves of the jacket securely around my waist, his face contorting into a scowl so sharp the air had cut tension marks through it.
"You're a fucking menace," he grumbled, ripping the makeshift knot tight against my hip bone with a punitive yank. "Did you genuinely think this strip of fabric was acceptable for public viewing?"
Oh boy. Why does his irritation turn me into a depraved slut? He’s losing his mind and all I can think about is how that beautiful mouth would feel pressed against the inside of my thighs.
"It’s called serving looks. Welcome to the modern era, grandpa," I piped up, though my skin was tingling everywhere his cold knuckles had accidentally brushed.
Aadam tilted his head up, the brilliant sunlight illuminating the disheveled dark curls that shadowed his forehead. He didn't just look at me; his gaze felt like a veiny hand dragging down my body. His eyes tracked the pale expanse of my legs, halting precisely where the ruffled hem of my floral mini-skirt was fluttering in the breeze.
It was a joke of a skirt, barely concealing the whisper-thin layer of lace underneath. Honestly, the lace was just a formality at this point. It was already damp, my anatomy throwing a fit just because he was positioned like a worshipful deity between my knees.
Look at what you do to me, you heartless psycho. I'm literally ruining my underwear just existing in your immediate radius.
"It's an invitation for every brainless loser in this venue to stare directly up your skirt the second you're inverted on a coaster," he stated, flatly. "And I have no intention of spending my Saturday breaking jaws because you decided to dress like a pin-up doll."
Okay. First of all? Rude. Second of all? I have never felt more alive or more wet in my entire life.
I bit down on my lip to stop the grin from forming, but it was no use. I loved it. I loved that I could make him this frantic. This unhinged and territorial, acting as if I were some fragile, endangered creature he had to guard with his life.
"But Mama was the one who chose this outfit," I purred, leaning forward so that the low-cut sweetheart neckline of my crop top spilled open, presenting him with an unhindered, top-down view of my cleavage.
His eyes dropped to the exposure, the tip of his tongue tracking across his bottom lip as if he wanted to swallow both plush mounds whole.
"Of course she did," he rasped. "Ava's been trying to kill me since you were born."
