Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(86)

I’m practically salivating.

Her fingers reach forward for my belt but I grab them and ease her down to sit on my bed. She watches as I remove my own pants directly in front of her, sliding my boxer briefs over yet another raging hard-on that Charlie has given me.

Her eyes flash wide for a second before she schools them. Even in the darkness—lit only by the city lights outside—I can see the blush.

The woman has removed her own clothes onstage in front of hundreds of men and yet she blushes at the sight of me, naked.

I fight the urge to laugh. What an unpredictable woman! It’s frustrating, but . . . I also love it. “Give me a minute?” I ask, not waiting for an answer as I head out the door. I try not to run. She’s still perched on the edge of the bed when I come back with a strip of condoms hanging from my grasp. “Sorry, I don’t keep any in here,” I explain.

A light frown curves across her forehead. “Where do you keep them?”

I sigh as I take in those creamy-skinned, muscular thighs, waiting to be pushed apart. I don’t really want to explain this right now. In the spare room . . . in the kitchen cupboard next to the fridge . . . in the side table of the living room . . . on my main floor balcony. Everywhere that I f**k women.

I don’t f**k women in my bedroom.

Tossing them onto the nightstand beside the bed, I stand naked in front of her, letting her take me all in for a moment. And she does, her lips parted slightly. I can hear her shallow breaths. Lifting her chin with my index finger until she meets my gaze, I explain in an even voice, “I’ve never invited anyone in here.” As if that isn’t clear enough, I add, “You’re the only woman who’s ever come near this bed.”

I hold her gaze as I try to convey the truth to my words, feeling her hard swallow beneath my touch as a myriad of emotions begin whirling within those eyes.

The tension in the air is suddenly palpable as her fingers reach forward to slide along my stomach, up to my chest. She stands, leveling me with a calculating look of her own. One that says she’s weighing the truth of my answer. “Why me?”

“Because you’re all I’ve thought about for weeks.”

“Is it because of . . . I mean,” her eyes dart to my neck, “do I remind you of someone?”

Ginger told her about Penny, obviously. “You’re not a replacement for anyone,” I answer slowly, evenly. Truthfully. Charlie is so much stronger, smarter, more confident than Penny ever was.

A shimmer coats her eyes. I think she’s beginning to understand . . . this. What the f**k is this? I honestly don’t know. When did it truly start? Was it last night? Was it when she threw me that first wink onstage? Was it the second she walked through my door?

I sense a tremble in her body and I instantly pull her into my arms. A nervous giggle tickles my chest where her mouth sits. “It’s all happening so fast. I just . . . when I took the job, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I’m sorry, it’s me. I warned you.” The soft chuckle slides out of my mouth. “I don’t like wasting time.”

“Do you believe in fate, Cain?”

I hesitate. Something tells me that Charlie does. I’d hate to tell her that I don’t. That I despise the very idea of fate because it means I was destined for this life the second I was born. And that I’d be a fool to think I have control over any of it.

Suddenly, she pulls away. Tilting her head in that playful way of hers, she sits and edges backward until she’s in the middle of the mattress and lying on her elbows, knees bent but together, her back arched naturally. Like an alluring angel amidst a sea of bedsheets.

I can’t help but gaze at her for a moment.

And then her legs fall apart and that coy smile curves her lips.

My hands are locked on her ankles and pulling her to me in an instant.

And I know in my gut that each kiss, each touch, each thrust tonight will sink me further.

Until there is no escape.

“What did I teach you?” His voice registers a split second before sharp fists bombard my chest, my ribs, my stomach.

My fifteen-year-old body—already hardened for a good ­beating—has come to refuse more than four hours of sleep at a time, always on guard. After all, longer sleeps only increase the odds of getting caught unconscious. I must have been exhausted, though, because this time he caught me in a dead sleep.

I spring out of bed in seconds and raise my fists, ready to fight. Dad’s dark eyes—still red and glossy from whatever he’d snorted or smoked the night before—bore into me. “Always be ready, son. Every second counts.”

My brain registers a weight against my chest and my eyes fly open. I’m a split second away from jumping into defense mode when floral perfume fills my nostrils.

I sigh. No one is attacking me. It’s Charlie—her body nestled into my side, her head resting on my chest. And it feels f**king incredible.

“Nightmare?” I hear her sleepy voice ask. With the predawn light coming through the window, I can make out her features. She’s at peace.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” I apologize, pushing a strand of hair off her face. A glance at the clock tells me we’ve been asleep for a few hours.

Asleep.

Tonight was the first time I’ve ever fallen asleep with a woman.

I’m almost twenty-nine years old and I’ve never slept with a woman.