Sweet Peril (The Sweet Trilogy #2)(62)

“We can go somewhere else,” he whispered.

“No.” I turned to him. If we stayed busy, everything would be fine. “I just want to be with you, and we might as well be productive. Let’s clean together.” I looked up at him, giggling at his furrowed forehead. “It’ll be fun,” I insisted.

“Fun? You’re mad.”

But I meant it. I went first to the hideously destroyed kitchen, opening the cabinet under the sink. It was empty.

“Do you have any garbage bags?” I called.

He wandered in, grabbing at the back of his neck again. “Uh . . . ,” he said, glancing around as if he’d never seen the place. My flip-flops made crinkly noises on the sticky floor as I moved to the pantry. It was empty, too, except for a half-eaten sleeve of crackers. Sensing a problem, I opened the refrigerator. Old take-out containers and pizza boxes stared back at me.

“You don’t have any food,” I said. “How about cleaning supplies?”

He shook his head and moved closer, looking miserable. “Anna, please. Bugger it. You don’t have to—”

“Shh.” I put a fingertip on his soft lips and we both stilled. “Let me.”

We stood there like that for several seconds before I grabbed some plastic grocery bags that had been shoved behind empty bottles and cans on the counter. Handing one to him, I headed for the living room and started picking up cans, bottles, and cups. Kaidan followed suit.

I came across a loose CD insert tucked in a side table. It was a mock-up CD jacket for Lascivious’s first album. I opened it and found scribbled tiny writing that I recognized as Kaidan’s. I looked closer and held my breath when I read “A Good Thing: Lyrics by Kaidan Rowe.” Next to it he’d written “change to Michael Vanderson.” All the love I carried for him sprung up and forced a smile to my lips.

“You did write it,” I whispered.

Kaidan looked up at me from across the room, his eyes getting big when he saw what I held. He swallowed and looked down, pretending to focus on cleaning. “Yeah, well, Michael wrote the first few lines and was going to throw it out, so I just . . . finished it. You can, er, toss that in the bin.”

I bit my lip and folded the jacket closed before tucking it in the pocket of my shorts and getting back to cleaning. I dumped a full bowl of cigarette butts and ashes into a bag and held my breath against the dingy puff of air. We were making good time on the cleaning.

As I moved toward the coffee table, a strange feeling overcame me. I tried to shake it off, but found myself wading through cans and cups, dropping to my knees between the cluttered coffee table and his black leather couch in search of the source, my heart stammering and my hearing dim. Kaidan said something, but I couldn’t quite make it out as everything around me went blurry. There. On the edge of the glass-topped table were remnants of white powder. I wanted it. I reached a finger down, touched it, and brought it to my face, but my wrist was grasped hard.

“Anna . . .”

I tried to yank my hand away. “Let me have it,” I said through clenched teeth.

He blew on the tip of my finger and I gasped.

“Anna,” he said again.

“What?” I snapped, angry for reasons I couldn’t comprehend. He let go of my hand and swiped an arm across the table. I stared at the spot where the powder had been, rubbing my fingers together.

He paused long enough that I finally looked at him. I didn’t like how he examined me at that moment. As if I were fragile or I scared him.

“Do you do it a lot?” I asked, jealousy edging the question.

His voice was low and cautious. “No. Not a lot.”

“Do you like it?”

“Um . . .” His eyes darted around the floor. “It doesn’t last long. It’s barely worth—”

“But how good does it feel while it lasts?”

I knew my eyes were wild when he caught them with his. His lips were pursed and he wouldn’t answer. He tried to take my hands, but I pulled them away.

“Is there more here?” I asked.

“No.” His voice was hard.

I drew in a ragged breath, wishing this vile agitation would leave me.

“Let’s just keep cleaning,” I said absently. I reached for a folded piece of paper in the center of the coffee table. Kaidan grabbed it from my fingers and shoved it in his pocket, mumbling a rough curse. I stared at his mouth, astonished.

“You said the f-word.”

That definitely shouldn’t have been the thing to relieve me of my annoyance, but it did.

“Sorry. I just . . . I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

I wondered what the paper was, and why he didn’t want me to see it, but those questions were pushed aside by other instincts. The blood under my skin buzzed with thoughts of drugs and parties and dirty words on Kaidan’s lips. A molten brazenness roared up inside me as we faced each other on our knees. Kai caught my eye and held it, dark clouds brewing in his own.

“Careful how you look at me right now,” he warned. “I’ve been on edge since your little striptease today.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “About that . . .”

Catching my bottom lip in my teeth, I ran a hand over his shoulder, down to the bare skin of his forearm. His chest rose and fell faster. Our eyes connected, crashing.