I don’t do relationships.” Pain flared somewhere deep, the agony of rejection making me start to pull away. But Anson grabbed my arm. His grip managed to be both gentle and firm. But his fingers burned, the contact searing into me. “It’s not you,” he gritted out. “I don’t do relationships with anyone. Not friendship, not more. Wouldn’t want to saddle a single soul with the fucked-up shit that’s me. But you keep looking at me with those kiss-me eyes, all green and sparking gold, and it’s killing me. Doesn’t matter how much I want to drown in your taste. How much I want to know what it would be
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