Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(24)

But even as he tried to coax his hands into letting her go, she reached up, traced the rim of his glasses. “Just how well can you see without these?” she asked.

That glint in her eyes made him leery.

Sliding his hand from her cheek down, he gripped her narrow hips in both hands, studied her. “I can’t,” he finally said, shrugging.

“You can’t?” she asked, lifting a brow.

“Well, if whatever I’m looking at is about a foot in front my face, then yeah, I can see it. If I squint. Farther than that? It’s blurs, lights, blobs.” He shrugged. “So, basically . . . without them, I can’t see.”

A slow smiled tugged at her lips as she reached up, slid them off. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re in here, huh?”

Automatically, he squinted, barely managed to focus on her face. And then he didn’t even bother as her lips slid against his.

Warning . . . warning . . .

She kissed him, light and soft.

Then she made her way over to his ear.


*

She didn’t know what drove her.

Maybe it was the weight that still rested in her chest, that burn of rejection, or the knot in her throat.

Or maybe it was the look in his eyes when he’d seemed to think she was pushing him away.

She wasn’t good at this.

She’d spent too much of her life hiding . . . from everything. From people, from friends, from emotion. It was just easier not to really let herself feel. The perfect example was what had happened with Zach—she’d thought she felt something real there, and not only had she been wrong, she’d hurt him, and she’d hurt Abby.

Emotions were just too messy and she didn’t understand them.

But she needed to give him something.

At the same time, she wasn’t ready for anything else.

She rubbed her nose along the column of his throat, the scent of him flooding her head, making her knees feel just a little weak.

Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his ear.

“The last time I had a quick f*ck . . .” She drew the word out, felt him shudder against her as she traced her hand down his chest. “The last time I had what could even be called casual sex was . . .” She bit his ear, the way he’d done to her earlier, and then continued. “It was . . . well. Never.”

Then, before he could respond, she backed away, fast. She put his glasses down on the far end of the counter and headed off. “See you in the morning.”

She heard him mutter something behind her as she opened the door.

Then she heard him shout her name, a clatter, then a curse. Grimacing, she glanced back, but kept on going.

She was too nervous, too uncertain to handle anything else tonight.

If this was taking the coward’s way out?

Well, okay then.

She was a coward.

She hit the Down button, staring at the door, waiting for Zane to come out.

He didn’t and when she slid out of the building a minute later, she told herself the funny ache in her chest wasn’t disappointment. She really, really wasn’t up to handling any in-depth discussions, and her very limited sex life was one of those.

But still . . .

She heard her name coming from overhead.

Wincing, she glanced up.


*

The feel her of her hand on his chest, her breath ghosting along his neck, did a very good job of fuzzing his brain and making him forget that glint in her eyes.

Then she closed her teeth around his ear and Zane pretty much surrendered the idea of even trying to think.

Until she whispered in his ear.

The words bounced around.

The loss of her body pressed to his was a visceral one and he reached out, but she was already gone.

He saw the blur of movement, scowled, even those words finally connected in his brain.

The last time I had a quick f*ck, the last time I had what could even be called casual sex was . . . It was . . . well. Never.

Son of a bitch. He lunged forward, determined to . . . to what?

He didn’t know the answer to that, but she wasn’t dropping that on him and then just disappearing.

But even as that thought processed, he crashed into a barstool, sent it slamming.

“Damn it!” He slid his hand blindly along the counter, searching for his glasses. Five seconds. If he didn’t find them in five seconds, he was grabbing his spare pair—bingo.

He jammed them on his face, mentally calculated the time. She was already out the door.

He hit the window in the bedroom and jerked it open.

There she was.

“Keelie!”

She glanced up at him. The loft was on the top floor, but the building wasn’t a tall one. He was only four floors up and could see her face just fine. A faint smile danced on her lips, but he couldn’t quite read that smile. “You are a brat,” he finally said, uncertain what to say besides that.

Now that smile widened. “Please don’t tell me you’re just now figuring that out, Zane.”

Then she waved and opened the door of the car. “See you in the morning, Z.”

He clenched his hand on the window sill while hunger burned, his cock pulsed, and his mind raced.

And despite all of that, he found himself smiling.

It had taken three damn years, but tomorrow, he was having coffee with Keelie Jessup.