His laugh was surprisingly soft and void of mockery. “I know more than you think I do.” He stepped toward me again, but didn’t touch me. The light cast down behind and around him, causing his face to be cut into odd planes and shadows, with only glimpses of the pale skin of his face showing. “I know I’m making you nervous. Believe it or not, Harper—that’s not my intention.”
“I—I don’t care what your intentions are,” I said quietly. My voice shook as I spoke, and I knew he heard it. I moved backward, away from him, and in the next second I’d stepped off the paved walk and into the wintry-dead grass. My pointed boot heel sank, stuck, and before I knew what was happening my balance shifted and I was going down. My arms jutted out to catch myself, and my purse dropped—
Kane leapt, caught me, set me upright. So fast, I hardly had time to realize most of my body was wrapped in his arms. My eyes widened as he looked down at me, and unavoidably, my entire self started shaking. He didn’t let go of me. Not at first.
Those velvety brown eyes moved over mine. “I don’t know why I can’t stop staring at you,” Kane said quietly. His easygoing voice, in complete contrast with that brusque Boston accent, sent shivers across my skin. Then he steadied me, and stepped back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and inclined his head. “Get out of here, Harper Belle,” he said. But his mouth, those full lips that were tinged with just enough shade of rose to make them stand out against his alabaster skin, smiled that easy smile. “You don’t want this,” he inclined his head toward the Kappas’ house. “Something else, maybe. But that’s the part of you I can’t quite read yet.”
Back on the paved walk, I breathed, straightened my posture, raised my chin. Inside, I still shook. Keep it hidden, Harper. At all costs, don’t let them see you.
“You don’t know me or what I want,” I answered weakly. Almost a whisper. I hated it. Couldn’t help it.
Then I could do nothing more than turn on my heel and walk away as fast as I could.
As I marched back across the street, up the walk and back to Delta House, I knew his gaze stayed on me. I knew he didn’t budge from where he stood beneath that yard light. And more than anything, as I climbed the steps to my own sorority house, I knew one thing with more certainty than I’d experienced in some time.
It wasn’t the last time I’d see Kane McCarthy. No matter how much I wanted to back out of my very own Dare. Despite how incredibly edgy and unnerved he made me, we’d be together again. Perhaps not taking or making bets, but something. I felt it inside of me. Almost as if it’d been there all along, only I’d ignored it.
The moment my hand lit on the doorknob, the door fell open, and Murphy was there, eyes wide, a skully cap pulled over her lob haircut. “What was that all about?” she asked breathily. As usual, when she was exceptionally excited about something, her North York accent fell heavy. “Come on, Harper. Spill!”
The common room was unusually empty, and we both made our way to the sofa and sat down. Murphy waited, almost bouncing on the cushions. I fought the urge to close my eyes, to purge the embarrassing scene of Kane dragging me from the betting room in the Kappa house.
And his uncanny perception of me.
I breathed in. Out. Trying my best not to look as exhausted as I felt. “Well,” I finally said, looking at Murphy’s wide-eyed gaze. “Kane McCarthy will not be as easy as I thought.”
Her long lashes grazed her cheeks as she blinked, almost in slow-motion. “Oy, why’s that?”
I shook my head and stared into the low flame of the gas fireplace. “Firstly, he’s not your average Kappa. Rather, Kappa affiliate. He’s not even your average bad boy.” I sighed and looked at her. “He’s arrogant and authoritative. He makes assumptions and isn’t afraid to voice them.”
A smile leapt to Murphy’s expressive mouth. “Really? What else, Ms. Perceptive?”
I ignored her playful jab. “He’s challenging me, Murphy. But he doesn’t quite know who he’s messing with.” Which was a bold-faced lie. He knew all right. Knew all too well. I could see it in that profound stare of his.
There it was. That knowing grin on Murphy’s face. “No, he doesn’t indeed.”
That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I tossed. I turned. I rose, walked to the window and sat on the sill, watching the inky November night. I pushed up the old glass and allowed the chilled air to flow over me. Texas had a myriad of weather changes, and even in the dead of winter it could be hot as Hades. Not true this year. It’d been chilly ever since mid-October, and I liked it. It felt…clean. Fresh.
Kane McCarthy’s truck was gone; back at Brax’s, no doubt. I replayed every second of our earlier meeting. Every stare, every touch, every word. I could still even smell the scent of his worn leather jacket. More than anything, though, were his words. They’d affected me, more than I’d let on to Murphy. As a matter of fact, I’d hidden pretty much everything from Murphy. I hadn’t told her I’d almost had a panic attack. It’d been almost a year since I’d had one, usually brought on by nightmares of things from my long-ago past. Usually, during a visit home. Things I’d spent years in therapy to forget. Corinne Belle had insisted on it. I’d lied there, too. To the therapist. To Corinne.
I hadn’t forgotten anything at all about those terrifying days so long ago. When I was eight. What had happened to my parents. What I’d seen. I even remembered the police officer who’d found me that night.
“I—I don’t care what your intentions are,” I said quietly. My voice shook as I spoke, and I knew he heard it. I moved backward, away from him, and in the next second I’d stepped off the paved walk and into the wintry-dead grass. My pointed boot heel sank, stuck, and before I knew what was happening my balance shifted and I was going down. My arms jutted out to catch myself, and my purse dropped—
Kane leapt, caught me, set me upright. So fast, I hardly had time to realize most of my body was wrapped in his arms. My eyes widened as he looked down at me, and unavoidably, my entire self started shaking. He didn’t let go of me. Not at first.
Those velvety brown eyes moved over mine. “I don’t know why I can’t stop staring at you,” Kane said quietly. His easygoing voice, in complete contrast with that brusque Boston accent, sent shivers across my skin. Then he steadied me, and stepped back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and inclined his head. “Get out of here, Harper Belle,” he said. But his mouth, those full lips that were tinged with just enough shade of rose to make them stand out against his alabaster skin, smiled that easy smile. “You don’t want this,” he inclined his head toward the Kappas’ house. “Something else, maybe. But that’s the part of you I can’t quite read yet.”
Back on the paved walk, I breathed, straightened my posture, raised my chin. Inside, I still shook. Keep it hidden, Harper. At all costs, don’t let them see you.
“You don’t know me or what I want,” I answered weakly. Almost a whisper. I hated it. Couldn’t help it.
Then I could do nothing more than turn on my heel and walk away as fast as I could.
As I marched back across the street, up the walk and back to Delta House, I knew his gaze stayed on me. I knew he didn’t budge from where he stood beneath that yard light. And more than anything, as I climbed the steps to my own sorority house, I knew one thing with more certainty than I’d experienced in some time.
It wasn’t the last time I’d see Kane McCarthy. No matter how much I wanted to back out of my very own Dare. Despite how incredibly edgy and unnerved he made me, we’d be together again. Perhaps not taking or making bets, but something. I felt it inside of me. Almost as if it’d been there all along, only I’d ignored it.
The moment my hand lit on the doorknob, the door fell open, and Murphy was there, eyes wide, a skully cap pulled over her lob haircut. “What was that all about?” she asked breathily. As usual, when she was exceptionally excited about something, her North York accent fell heavy. “Come on, Harper. Spill!”
The common room was unusually empty, and we both made our way to the sofa and sat down. Murphy waited, almost bouncing on the cushions. I fought the urge to close my eyes, to purge the embarrassing scene of Kane dragging me from the betting room in the Kappa house.
And his uncanny perception of me.
I breathed in. Out. Trying my best not to look as exhausted as I felt. “Well,” I finally said, looking at Murphy’s wide-eyed gaze. “Kane McCarthy will not be as easy as I thought.”
Her long lashes grazed her cheeks as she blinked, almost in slow-motion. “Oy, why’s that?”
I shook my head and stared into the low flame of the gas fireplace. “Firstly, he’s not your average Kappa. Rather, Kappa affiliate. He’s not even your average bad boy.” I sighed and looked at her. “He’s arrogant and authoritative. He makes assumptions and isn’t afraid to voice them.”
A smile leapt to Murphy’s expressive mouth. “Really? What else, Ms. Perceptive?”
I ignored her playful jab. “He’s challenging me, Murphy. But he doesn’t quite know who he’s messing with.” Which was a bold-faced lie. He knew all right. Knew all too well. I could see it in that profound stare of his.
There it was. That knowing grin on Murphy’s face. “No, he doesn’t indeed.”
That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I tossed. I turned. I rose, walked to the window and sat on the sill, watching the inky November night. I pushed up the old glass and allowed the chilled air to flow over me. Texas had a myriad of weather changes, and even in the dead of winter it could be hot as Hades. Not true this year. It’d been chilly ever since mid-October, and I liked it. It felt…clean. Fresh.
Kane McCarthy’s truck was gone; back at Brax’s, no doubt. I replayed every second of our earlier meeting. Every stare, every touch, every word. I could still even smell the scent of his worn leather jacket. More than anything, though, were his words. They’d affected me, more than I’d let on to Murphy. As a matter of fact, I’d hidden pretty much everything from Murphy. I hadn’t told her I’d almost had a panic attack. It’d been almost a year since I’d had one, usually brought on by nightmares of things from my long-ago past. Usually, during a visit home. Things I’d spent years in therapy to forget. Corinne Belle had insisted on it. I’d lied there, too. To the therapist. To Corinne.
I hadn’t forgotten anything at all about those terrifying days so long ago. When I was eight. What had happened to my parents. What I’d seen. I even remembered the police officer who’d found me that night.
