Hothouse Flower (Addicted #4)(19)

“Daisy…”

My long legs touch his strong ones. My hip bones press into his pelvis, a little shorter than him since he’s six-three to my five-eleven. I become keenly aware of his flexed muscles and dark eyes that set on me. It’s an R-rated hug, if there can be one. And yet, he’s not hard. He’s just tense, like he’s waiting for me to draw away.

Instead of hugging me back, he sets a single hand on my head, hesitating.

I sigh. Well that test was inconclusive. “Thanks,” I say. That single word relaxes his muscles. “I’m glad we can be non-f*cking friends.” It’s better than nothing.

His dark eyes dance over my features. He stays quiet for a long time, both of us unmoving from this position. It’s dangerous to be like this after the garage incident, but I think we’re equally attracted to that danger.

His thumb grazes my cheek. “You look f*cking exhausted.”

“I napped.”

“You don’t f*cking nap,” he says.

“I shut my eyes this afternoon. What do you call that?”

“Shutting your f*cking eyes,” he deadpans.

A smile breaks through my face. I laugh, and then I lean forward and rest my cheek against his chest. I close my eyes, and his body stiffens again. He’s warm. I listen to the faint sound of his heart for a second, and I swear it speeds. But maybe that’s just mean hoping that I have some sort of effect on Ryke Meadows.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly. His hands return to my head, making me realize that I’m smaller than him. It’s hard finding guys taller than me, which is why I’ve gravitated towards models in the past.

“Sleeping,” I say with a smile.

“When did I become your f*cking pillow?” he asks lightly.

“Shhh,” I whisper, “it’s safe here.”

Just when I anticipate Ryke drawing away from me, he surprises me and kisses the top of my head. But it lasts only a second before his hands fall. His brows scrunch as he glares at something over my shoulder. I turn my head and follow his gaze, spotting a Celebrity Crush magazine by the coffee pot.

“Who still buys that garbage?”

“Lily,” I say. “I think my sister’s hoping people will forget about our family.”

“She’s dreaming.” Ryke leaves my side to grab the magazine. He flips through it quickly, and I catch the main headline on the front cover before he trashes it. Photo! Lily Calloway Dating Her Fiancé and His Brother.

“What’s the photo of?” I ask curiously, rinsing the cereal bowl.

“The three of us eating lunch at Lucky’s downtown. The press can keep saying I’m banging your f*cking sister, but we all know it’s a load of—”

“Shit,” I finish. “Bullshit.” I mock gasp. “Fucking bullshit.”

He stares at me with harshness that would intimidate most people. But I don’t back down. My eyes stay locked on his piercing ones, and then his lips slowly rise. “When did your mouth get so f*cking dirty, Calloway?” he asks.

“The moment I became friends with you.”

“Good on me then,” he says, messing my hair with a rough hand. “I’m tailing you when we leave, by the way.”

“You’re supposed to be my pillow, not my bodyguard,” I remind him. “I already have one of those.” His name is Mikey Black. He’s in his forties and used to be a physical trainer in California. Unlike Lily’s bodyguard who’s a bit beefy and wears oversized suits, mine likes to dress in Bermuda shorts in the winter and cut-off shirts. He’s pretty cool.

“He can’t keep up with you,” Ryke says, sidling next to me. He watches as I stick the bowl into the dishwasher.

“He taught me how to surf this summer,” I refute.

“He only rides Harleys, and they can’t go as f*cking fast as your sportbike. I’ve never seen him pass a paparazzi’s car when he’s with you.” That’s true. I end up being flocked by SUVs. Like tonight. I tried to outmaneuver them, but they sped up behind me, forcing me to go a little faster. And Mikey was lost somewhere with my shift from eighty miles per hour to a hundred-and-five on the interstate.

“He smells like salt water and candy,” I tell him. “Sometimes even cupcakes.”

Ryke gives me a blank stare.

“Those are selling points,” I say.

“Not for me.”

“There’s nothing better than cupcakes, except maybe chocolate cake, but that’s still in the cupcake family.”

“Sex,” he says. “Sex is better than chocolate.” He always tells me this.

“Not for me,” I use his exact words.

His eyes descend to my lips. I swear they do this time. But it happens so quickly. Maybe it was just me wanting it badly again… I don’t know why I torture myself. It’s not like we can act on anything, even if he does admit to liking me as more than just non-f*cking friends.

I let the moment go. Like I always do. “What makes you think that you can keep up with me more than Mikey?” I ask.

He leans close again. “Because,” he says, “I’m the one who taught you how to ride a motorcycle.”

I smile. Yes he did.





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