Wrapped Up in You (Heartbreaker Bay, #8)(44)

Kel stood there in a jacket against the night’s chill, a hoodie beneath it with the hood up, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. “And you need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

That was just true enough to have her grimacing. She’d been too lost in thought. She’d clearly gotten too complacent, gone soft here in San Francisco, losing some of her edge, her survival instincts. That had to stop.

“I think we can do better than that for you,” he said of the tape.

“It’s effective enough.” Turning away, she started walking down the sidewalk.

“Let me drive you home,” he said, keeping her pace.

“I like to walk.”

“You like to be stubborn.”

“I like to be independent,” she corrected, and pulled up her own hood, wishing she’d remembered gloves.

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, the accompanying clap of thunder making her jerk as the first drop of rain hit her on the nose. And then another, and with a sigh she turned and found herself toe-to-toe with the current bane of her existence. “Okay, fine. I’ll take the ride. Thank you,” she added begrudgingly.

He flashed a smile. “It’s because you’re cold, right?”

“No.” Cold, she could handle. But her hair was about to get frizzy, and that she couldn’t handle.

“You hungry?” he asked in the truck a few minutes later.

“No. You?”

He glanced over at her, eyes dark. It wasn’t hard to read his mind. Yes, he was hungry, just not for food.

And just like that, she was suddenly hungry too.

When he found a parking spot near her building, he turned off the engine.

She looked at him, not able to see much since now the only lighting came from the street traffic and surrounding buildings. But his outline was familiar and somehow . . . comforting, as was the feel of his gaze on her face.

For most of her life, she’d not given much thought to comfort, either needing or giving it. It’d been about survival, and comfort was a luxury.

But for over a year now, it hadn’t been about just surviving. It was about learning to . . . well, not be like a feral cat. Learning how to be more open and make friends and . . . yes, dammit, find comfort in the life she was building for herself.

But taking in the man sitting next to her, the strength and warmth of him, she realized she most definitely wanted more than comfort tonight. “You’re not sleeping outside again,” she murmured.

His voice came back to her in the embodied dark, low, and a little gravely. “Are you inviting me in?”

“Well you did win the bet.”

“This isn’t going to be about the bet, Ivy.”

“Yes, it is.”

Not answering, he got out of the vehicle with her. As they walked toward her building, he was the one to call out a greeting to Jasmine and Martina, both sitting beneath two side-by-side umbrellas.

He’d remembered them, and as people, not as homeless nobodies.

And utterly without warning, she softened for him. She’d thought she wanted his body tonight, but suddenly she knew it was far more.

At her door, he crouched low and eyed her “alarm system.” The piece of tape was in place. Still, he rose to his feet, held out his hand for her keys and then proceeded to clear the place.

When he was seemingly satisfied, he stood in the center of her postage stamp–sized apartment in that leather jacket, buttery soft faded jeans, and boots, hair damp from the rain, drops all over him. He liked to call her “Trouble,” but the truth was, it was him. Every inch of him was going to be trouble, and she was looking forward to it.

He was watching her watch him, leaving her to it, calm. Patient.

Eyes hot.

“So,” she said, mentally cracking her knuckles, trying to figure out how to get him closer and his mouth on hers. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Are you asking if I want to Netflix and chill?” He sounded amused, though that heated gaze of his was dark and serious. Very serious.

“Um . . . yes?”

He gave a slow shake of his head and came toward her, backing her up to the wall. Setting his hands on the wall on either side of her face, he leaned in and gave her what she’d wanted—one hell of a kiss. It started soft, questing, but when her arms wound around his neck and she kissed him back, he deepened the kiss. She heard herself moan as she fisted her hands in his hair. It wasn’t enough, so she regrouped and slipped her hands beneath his shirt instead, touching his abs, feeling the hard muscles ripple in reaction. His skin was warm, the scent of him delicious, and . . . dangerous to her heart and soul. She simply couldn’t be this close to him without losing her tenuous grip on her need and hunger.

He lifted his head and searched her gaze before his mouth curved very slightly and he backed up a step. “When you’re sure,” he said quietly, running his fingers along her jaw. “You’ll say when.” He dropped his hand from her. “’Night, Ivy.”

She stared at his very fine backside as it headed toward the door, her heart still pounding, lips tingling from his kiss. She pulled out her phone, hit his number to call him, and watched as he got halfway out the door before his cell rang.

Pausing, he pulled it from his pocket and eyed the screen and then answered it as he turned back to face her, his lips curved as he found her on her phone as well.