He shakes his head, takes the broken tab from my hand and discards it on the table. “Nah, nightmares and dreams last forever. It’s part of life.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I hesitate. “Do you have them?”

“Have nightmares?” he asks with a quirk of his lips. “Not really, but I’m completely dead inside so nothing scares me.”

I analyze his expression. It’s one of passivity and gives no detection on whether or not he is joking.

“I’m being serious,” he says with a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s how I’ve been forever, hence the reason why I’m a douche bag and rarely feel bad.”

He’s the most perplexing person I’ve ever met, besides myself. “You’re not being a douche right now. In fact, you haven’t been much of one the last few times I’ve been around you.”

“Yeah, give me some time. It takes me a while to warm up.” He is unreadable; there’s an indifferent expression on his face, his mouth sits in a straight line, his eyes give nothing away. “I have this theory.” He changes the subject as he scoots to the side, relocating closer to me on the couch. “About you.”

I force down the massive lump in my throat. “What kind of theory? Or do I not want to know?”

The cocky gleam revisits his eyes and he stretches his arm along the back of the chair so it lies beside my head. “The kind where I think you’re extremely innocent.”

That is the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“I can tell these things,” he says as his fingers tangle through my hair. “It’s a gift.”

And Mr. Sexy Douche Bag returns. I withdraw my head away from his hand as the jolt of electricity webs my thoughts. “Just because you think something doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud.”

He grins haughtily and reaches for my hair again. “The simple fact that you can’t even deny it, tells me I’m right.”

“Don’t touch me.” I start to get to my feet, but his fingers spread over my thigh and he forces me down, kind of roughly.

He rotates to the side on his hip and his body conforms over me. “I’m not trying to make you mad.” He kneads my thigh with his fingertips, causing an effervescent feeling to coil up between my thighs. I cross my legs to suppress a shudder as my head hits the armrest of the sofa. “Only to get to know you a little better.”

I’m conflicted between slapping his hand away and letting his fingers sneak up my leg further. “You said you warm up.” I can’t take my eyes off his hand on my leg.

His eyebrows knit and his hand stops traveling upward. “What?”

“To being a douche.” I smack his hand off my leg, even though it nearly kills me. Then I place my hands on his chest, noting the racing of his heart, and push him away from me so I can sit up. “But there was no warming up. You went from hot to cold in about two seconds.”

He looks down at his hand as he flexes his fingers, appearing befuddled. “You know, you’re nothing like what I expected.” He elevates his chin and meets my eyes. “The first time I saw you, I expected you to be quiet and less… feisty.”

Was that a compliment? My lips part to question, but his phone starts playing “Mad World” by Evergreen Terrace and my words drift off as he answers it, gets to his feet and heads down the hallway. I grab my coat, slip my arms through the sleeves, and zip it up. It’s definitely time to go. Assignment or not, it’s not a good thing to be here. He drives me crazy, in both really bad and really good ways, and it is emotionally unhealthy.

As I open the door, a below-zero breeze carries into the house, blustering snowflakes across the floor and against my cheeks. There’s a snowstorm blowing in as usual. Tucking my lips underneath the collar of my coat, I start to step out.

“Gemma, wait,” Alex calls out. I pause with one foot over the threshold, waiting for… something. “I want you to go somewhere with me.”

I turn my head toward him and lower the collar away from my face. “Are you being serious?”

He’s slipped a pair of boots on, but the laces are still undone. “I’ll knock it off. You just get me all riled up for some reason.” He lowers himself onto the edge of the coffee table and kicks his boot up on his knee to tie up the laces. “But I promise I’ll be Mr. Nice Guy the entire time.” He pauses, setting his foot back down on the ground and amusement sparkles in his eyes. “I cross my heart and hope to die.”

An image presses up at the back of my mind and pops in my head like a burnt out light bulb.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” someone whispers.

A little girl with long brown hair spins circles in a field with her arms out. “Stick a needle in your eye?”

“Stick a needle in both eyes,” the voice answers with laughter.

I flinch and then for no reason whatsoever say, “Stick a needle in your eye?”

I half expect him to return my question with the same response as in the memory, but all he does is stand up and nod. He grabs his coat off a hook in the wall and then moves past me, steps outside and gestures at me to follow.

“What about Aislin?” I ask as he locks up the door.

“She’s actually going to meet us at the place.” He puts the house key in his pocket, turns for the stairway, and zips up his jacket as snowflakes stick to his brown hair. “Although, I don’t think we’ll be getting any of our project done.”

I trot down the stairs after him, holding onto the railing. “Why not?”

He reaches the bottom of the stairway, dusts the snow out of his hair, and glances over his shoulder at me. “Because we’re going to a party.”

I slam to a stop, slip on a patch of ice, and smack my elbow on the railing as I try to catch myself. Alex’s hands snap out and his fingers enfold around my waist, saving me from a very painful fall. The sparks attempt to fire up against my skin, but the air is freezing and the sensation is muffled.

“You’re very accident prone.” He releases me and tugs his hood over his head. “You need to relax. It’s just a party and we’re not even going there to join in. We just need to pick something up.”

I follow him down the sidewalk, hiding my hands in my sleeves to keep them warm. “Then, why are you bringing me with you?”

He shrugs as he swerves to the left and heads toward the carport. “I find you entertaining to be around. You say things normal people wouldn’t say.” I frown and he shakes his head, smiling, as he adds, “It’s a good thing so stop pouting.”

It almost sounds like a compliment. Stunned, I shove all my reservations aside and follow him, drawn by an impulse that I have no control over, as if I’m a puppet. Or a lovesick girl. Either one isn’t that flattering.

Chapter 6

Alex drives a 1969 cherry-red Camaro with black leather on the inside. It’s the sexiest car I’ve ever laid eyes on and I’m not even a car person. It’s embarrassing to admit, but it kind of turns me on a little or maybe it’s him driving the car that is getting my insides throbbing. That way sounds a lot better.

He drives fast, which is extremely dangerous for how icy the roads are, but, for some unknown reason, I trust him; somehow I know that he’ll never let anything hurt me. I keep my seatbelt buckled, though, listening to the engine purr as I watch the curves of the road.

It’s getting late, the sky is black, the snow is thick, and the headlights light up the way. The inside of the car smells like cologne and there is a hint of a lilac sent. I realize there are pressed flowers hanging from the rearview mirror. I reach up and spin them around, glancing over the browned edges and the crisp stems.

“I didn’t picture you as a flower person,” I tease, releasing the flowers and rotating in the seat to face him, drawing my knee up with me.

He has one hand resting comfortably on top of the steering wheel and the other is on the shifter. “You’re funny.” He flashes me a grin as he slows down for a very sharp corner. “Someone gave them to me.”

“A girl someone?” I request casually as I shuffle through his playlist on the iPod.

He nods and I feel my heart sink in my chest, ram against the inside of my stomach, and rile up the motion of my blood. “Yeah, she gave them to me quite a while ago.”

I feel like an idiot. This whole time I’ve been drooling over him and I never bothered to ask if he has a girlfriend. “Oh, sorry. It doesn’t seem so bad then. To have them, I mean; especially if she means something to you.”

He twists the string, securing the flowers to the mirror, his eyes glazing over as if he’s floating back into a memory. “I should probably take them down.”

“Why? Did you break up with the girl?” Could I be any more obvious?

He releases a breath trapped in his chest and wraps his fingers around the shifter. ”No, she died; quite a while ago.”

Me and my excessive questions. Dammit. The sorrow in his eyes makes me feel like an asshole. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I—”

As his fingers brush just above my kneecap, the sound of my voice withers. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago and I’ve moved on.”

He doesn’t sound like it. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever seen any real, raw emotion from him. He looks lost, ripped apart from the inside, broken, beaten and guilty. I wonder what happened to this girl, but I don’t dare press any more than I already have. His hand leaves my leg and I decide to end the conversation, before I say anything else stupid.

***

The party is in a cabin that’s located in the middle of the mountains. The car gets stuck in the snow three times during the drive up as the road becomes packed with more snow, narrowing the roads. It’s pitch black by the time we park in front of the cabin; the sky is so gloomy there isn’t a single speckle of starlight.

The red interior lights of the cabin highlight the shoveled pathway that leads to the front porch and the red glow makes the snow look like it’s soaked with blood. There is music blasting from the inside that has an entrancing, sexy beat and the deep bass rattles the windows. There are people making out on the steps, the mixing of their breath swirling in the cold air as their hands wander and grope at each other. What am I about to walk into? An orgy?

Alex turns the headlights off, removes the keys from the ignition, then opens the car door and steps outside. He tucks the keys into his pocket and lowers his head to peer in at me. “You comin’?”

I glance warily at the porch and then at the trees beside it, recollecting my dream. “What kind of party is this?”

“The kind where you have to take off your clothes just to get in,” he says and my expression falls. He shakes his head, grinning. “Relax, Gemma. It’s just a party. I promise you’ll be okay.”

Another promise. I climb out of the car and meet him around the front. Walking side-by-side, we head up the pathway to the house. None of the people kissing and feeling each other up notice us as we pass by them and step into the warmth of the house. I begin to take a breath, when the smell of smoke, alcohol and sweat consumes my nostrils.